


Blow Me

by idenunderscore, idreamtofreality



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, F/F, Glass Blower Kirk, I wrote the odd chapters from Kirks pov and my bff wrote even from Spocks, M/M, Oh! Trans Jim Kirk, Slow Burn, its a glass blowing/marine biolgist fic, magic vulcans, marine biologist Spock, not nsfw despite what the title suggests, probably horrendious misunderstanding of glass blowing and marine biology, spirk au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:52:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idenunderscore/pseuds/idenunderscore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamtofreality/pseuds/idreamtofreality
Summary: Jim Kirk has been living in Far Water, Oregon for the past two and half years as Pike's apprentice in a glass blowing shop after running away from home at 17. Spock is the Vulcan stranger who is a Marine biologist here to investigate the abnormally low fish population. They meet when Spock is directed to Pikes shop "Blow Me" for tea, and something about the other keeps drawing them back to each other. Over the course of the next year they grow closer as their pasts and selves are slowly revealed to each other.





	1. I Think He's A Vulcan

When Jim Kirk was a kid his mom always managed to get home for the fourth of July. It was her favorite holiday, no matter what other holidays she missed, she always, always made it home for the fourth of July. The whole town came to the Kirk’s fourth of July bashes; they had the best foods burgers, hotdogs, steaks, potato salad, corn dogs, watermelon, corn on the cob on and on the tables went filled with anything “American.” For entertainment there were corn mazes, bouncy houses, bands playing, and carnival rides. Winona had started it, she coordinated it, but it had turned into such a spectacle that it was the effort of a whole town.

Jim hadn’t cared much about the sentiment of the fourth, he’d read enough history books by the age of six to know that no matter how much it had changed since it’s creation, the country didn’t exactly have an origin or first couple of hundreds of years to be proud of, but he had looked forward every year to the weeks in late June that his mom managed to get home from her research, it was no doubt the most pleasant time of the year, and prepare for the Kirk’s annual Fourth of July bash. 

Every year until he was fifteen, Jim had lived to gorge himself on the best food he got all year, run through the corn maze with Sam (he always beat him out when he wanted to), led the attack of water balloons and water guns with his classmates, bounced the highest in the castle, and then, when all the adults got too tipsy to really notice or care, they stole the alcohol from them and went up on the roof and stared at the biggest firework display in the Midwest. 

Jim hasn't been to one of his family’s fourth of July bashes since he was fifteen years old. Winona had one the following year, but he’d just gotten back from Tarsus, he hadn’t managed more in the way of presence than grabbing one hotdog, seeing the faces staring expectantly, hopefully at him, crushing the bun between trembling fingers as he ran upstairs and barricaded himself in so well even George Kirk in all his anger couldn’t get in. Winona said she couldn’t make it the next year, but everyone in town knew it was Jim’s fault. The year after, Jim had taken the money he’d been saving from odd jobs and holidays since he was nine years old and ran away. 

Now, he stares at his laptop. He slept like crap, he’s made his way through a whole pot of coffee and every time he liftes the cup to his mouth his shaking hands nearly make him drop it. On the screen is a train ticket (he’s always wanted to ride on a train) for the nearest city by Riverside Iowa.

He adds it to his cart but it does nothing to make all the feelings he’s having any better. He can’t go back there. He promised himself when he left, when he finally got on that first bus in Des Moines after cutting off his hair and buying his binder that he would never look back. Winona Kirk left him with George most of the year, and he should just be okay with not telling her where he was. Sam was gone too and it was what she deserved.

If only he could believe that. He closes the page and let’s the self loathing that had been kept at bay only by the possibility that he might do something to right the cowardice of his actions overwhelms him. He’s been gone for over two years now, nearly three, he is twenty years old and he shouldn’t feel any responsibility to a family who hadn’t given two shits about him. 

He loves his home now, it feels like home in a way that Iowa and a house with George Kirk never could. Now he can look out the window and see the ocean, step outside into the sea breeze, he’s spent so many hours now working under Pike that he can just get lost into the joy of glass blowing, he even has a few friends. But still here he is staring at a train ticket. 

He jolts upward, and grabs the whole pot of coffee on the way out of his house. It may be five thirty in the morning but Bones will probably be up and well, if he isn’t then he has this entire pot of coffee to soften the blow of some idiot kid he decided to save on the beach two and a half years ago to make up for the fact that he’s waking him up at the crack of dawn. Jim is going to do something really fucking stupid if he doesn’t drag his sad ass to Bones. 

He’s sure he looks completely ridiculous in his bathrobe and slippers, holding an entire pot of coffee as he makes his way out the door but everyone in the town knows him, they won’t be surprised, and more than that most of them are probably sleeping.

Thankfully, Jim’s not lugging an entire pot of coffee very far. Bones lives about a minute walk from Jim’s, the beach town is so small and ridiculously secluded (one has to take a dirt road for miles to get to it) that just about anyone willing to have to wait days for most items and take hours to get to anywhere other than a couple more small towns can afford to live on the beach, especially since Pike bought up most of the town and doesn’t believe in making more money than he can use.

He knows the route so well that the walk to Bones’s house is autopilot at this point and the blurring of his vision doesn’t make him trip at any of the logs or stones, his feet remember when to soften and step over (though he stumbles still a few times at new things in his way). The path is magical looking in the early morning fog, but he doesn’t notice for once, brain becoming waves of misery overwhelmed with the crowing birds and crashing waves that are normally such a peaceful lulling. 

Jim doesn’t bother to knock, either Bones won’t be surprised to see him or he’ll have to wake up the grumpy old (“only eight years older than you, kid”) baker. 

Bones is up though, and for a second he looks annoyed but then he catches a proper sight of Jim, hair an absolute mess, tears now falling from his eyes, coffee pot sloshing slightly over as he loses the last remaining bits of okayness because if there’s one thing he has been forced to learn since coming here it’s that this grumpy bastard is probably the safest place he’s ever known. 

Bones rushes to take the pot from Jim and drag him onto the couch and over Bones’s lap. Bones looks adorable and Jim wishes he had it in him to tease him about the flower covered apron, the way he has bit of batter stuck in his hair and some of Joanna’s favorite things spilling out of his pockets. 

“What’s wrong, Jim?” It’s no use not telling Bones. 

“Tried to book a ticket. I’ve never gotten that far before and I. I couldn’t do it, Bones. I still can’t just do it.” It takes only a second for Bones to work through what he means and then he’s pulling Jim closer to him because he’d never admit it but he’s a snuggly old grumpy twink and he knows Jim he knows he’s more octopus than human with his close friends, coming out of years of touch starved hell. 

“I reckon she’d understand, Jim.” 

“She doesn’t even know I’m alive. How can she understand that both of her sons just left her without a word. I don’t even know if she know’s that I am her son. I know things have gotten a lot safer but I left at seventeen and I never looked back.” Bone’s snorts and begins stroking Jim’s hair. 

“You don’t ever seem to stop looking back, kid.” Jim doesn’t know how to respond to that, and he decides he doesn’t have to, just buries his face in Bones’s chest and cries. The strange combination smell of sweet batter, alcohol, and cleaners has become one of the most comforting things in the world to Jim.

The sun had only just started it’s climb through the sky when he left for Bones’s, but by the time he’s nearly cried himself completely dry while Bones calmly continues to pet his hair, it’s a blazing hot fourth of July Oregon morning. 

That’s when an overly excited Nyota bursts through the door. Jim doesn’t bother to lift his head out of Bone’s lap, he figures Nyota has seen enough of his pathetic side to not be surprised by this. She freezes as she takes them in and looks suddenly guiltily back at the door, as if hoping she can go back in time and knock. 

“Just say what happened, Notes.” Jim preemptively stops her from asking or apologizing. 

“I really wish you would stop calling me that.” 

“Sure thing, gurrrl.”

“That’s worse and you know it.” Jim laughs, which startles himself and seems to give Bones the sign he’d been waiting for to gently push Jim up off his lap into a sitting position as he lets through a real, pleased smile and gestures Nyota on. 

“Well, I was making my ranger rounds and I came across this guy that’s just trekkin’ through the forest which isn’t all that weird, except I’d never seen him before and get this when I saw him closer up I realize; I think that he’s a Vulcan.”


	2. Far Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock arrives in Far Water

Far Water, Oregon is much farther than its name suggests--farther than even civilization, Spock thinks with a small flash of irritation. He takes a moment to watch the shuttle move away, pulling onto the highway with a seemingly mocking turn of wheels. Spock allows the human within him to rise and scowl before he turns back to look at the sign in front of him:

Far Water, Oregon: Red Trail.

Apparently Far Water is so far off the map that one must hike to reach it. How do its citizens reach their jobs? Are they so far isolated that they do not even bother ever leaving?

He pulls the straps of his bag farther up his shoulders and pulls down his cap, the ends just barely covering the tips of his ears. Initially, he had some doubts about working around humans, but he was reminded of his humanity every day: his lack of control, most prominently, and then the alarming roundness of his eyes second. If he just kept his ears covered, he reasoned, there would not be any problems. The humans would recognize him as one of their own, and he would be able to work in peace. 

The reality of the situation did not arrive with nearly as much ease. Humans, apparently, were extremely perceptive: it did not matter that his eyes were human or that he consistently displayed bouts of emotion. No, they were distracted by his ears and his apparently overtly vulcan mannerisms.

Spock sighs a little and starts forward, boots sinking into the soft soil as soon as they part from the asphalt. The minimum amount of time for the humans to get used to him has, so far, been six months, and it probably will not change anytime soon. Vulcans simply do not go around humans unless it is absolutely necessary, and they certainly do not travel by themselves or stay for extended amounts of time. Spock is, in many ways, an outlier. He is different. His studies go beyond simple observation; he has, Sarek often says, chosen a rather human occupation.

It is worth it. Spock knows that it is worth it.

He pulls out his tricorder from where it hangs around his neck and flicks the switch, activating it. A low hum vibrates his fingertips, and he waits a moment before he lifts it above his head and lets it scan the treetops.

Beep. Pseudotsuga menziesii.

Curious. Spock has heard about these trees, but he spends a large amount of time in areas that do not have them in this abundance. They seem to be… everywhere. He bends for a moment to pick up a pinecone.

Beep. Pseudotsuga menziesii, it says again.

“Local lore,” Spock tells it.

Beep. There is a local folk tale that, in sum, says the curious shape of the pseudotsuga menziesii cone is caused by mice that were avoiding a volcano.

Spock almost laughs; humans are utterly ridiculous. Mice, in a cone? How did they ever consider that to be a possibility?

He drops the tricorder back to his side and continues his trek through the woods, brushing off a few beatles that managed to land on his shirt. It smells like the ocean here already; the salty air washes over him in waves, a pleasant breeze that he greatly appreciates on his skin. The shuttle was hot and sticky and smelled too strongly of humans, and the smell lingered in his skin and clothes. 

He walks for some time, savoring the feel of the air. He does not often indulge in life’s simple pleasures, but he is alone right now, and there is no one to point out, “That is rather human of you, Spock.” It is usually Sarek who says this; he is fond of the word ‘rather’--especially when it is paired with the word ‘human’ and closely followed by ‘Spock.’

Perhaps Spock is being too tough on his father. He is, after all, human. He does not fully understand what it means to be vulcan and he never can understand.

Far Water: 1 mile ahead.

Spock rearranges his backpack again and moves forward with a greater purpose. He does not have time to stop and “smell the roses,” as it were. He has places to be. He has a town to save. He has an ocean to regulate. 

When Far Water comes into sight, Spock is not surprised that it is horrendously small. It also seems stuck in time: there are no digitized billboards anywhere (no billboards at all, in fact), and the houses seem dated and compact. The style almost seems (Spock pauses for a moment, tilting his head) twentieth-century. Is that plausible? How could houses like this last for so long? The streets are almost idyllic in the way they’re lined with tall red oaks, the way the waves of the ocean seem to sweep through the streets and drown out almost all other sounds. Spock spots, at the end of the streets, a crooked building with the word: “Bar.”

Spock’s mouth suddenly feels dry and tasteless. It has been too long since he has had a drink; the last time he hydrated was before he got onto the bus, and now he feels so parched he can barely clear his throat.

He may be exaggerating to himself, but he is thirsty.

Spock walks over to the bar and climbs up the steps, pushing at the door cautiously. The room is almost full--it’s loud, too. Spock had not heard it before he entered because of how loud the waves were crashing against the shore, but now the sound almost overwhelms him. There is not a single bar stool open. Everybody is talking and laughing and their glasses are full to the brim with brownish drinks that slosh when they clink them together. Spock suppresses his urge to shudder--why are humans like this?

“Hey!” The man at the bar slides over to the corner nearest Spock and lifts an arm. “What can I get for you?” 

Spock approaches the bar, narrowly avoiding a couple that barrel past him with little care for their surroundings. “Hello,” he says carefully, “Do you have any tea?” 

The man’s nose crinkles. “Tea? No, laddie. You’ll have to go to Blow Me.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Is that another bar?” 

“No, it’s a wee shop at the end of the road. Just go thataways a bit”--he gestures rather vaguely in what could be interpreted as three different direction--“and turn left and you’re there. Can’t miss it.”

Spock does not understand in which direction he is meant to travel, but the bartender is already moving away, and Spock does not want to raise his voice to call him back.

There should not be any issues finding it, he decides, and waiting for the bartender to come back to this side of the bar is not worth waiting in the chaos that is this bar.

He pushes his way out and steps into the salty air, but it is not as peaceful as before: humans from the assorted buildings are spilling onto the street, dressed in different combinations of red, white, and blue. One of them is screaming “America!” at the top of their lungs, while a teenager sprints after them, shouting, “No! Russia!” Spock narrowly avoids the crowd of the people that barrel toward the pair, insisting that today is “America’s day, asshole!” 

He walks down the street, dodging all of these people, and scans the signs on all of the buildings. None of these say “Blow Me.” 

“Excuse me,” he says, catching the attention of a small blonde woman: “Can you tell me where Blow Me is?”

She seems a little distracted. “Sorry?” 

“Blow Me,” Spock repeats. The woman looks affronted.

“Excuse me?” 

Perhaps she was not the best person to ask. “Are you able to direct me toward Blow Me? The bartender said it can provide me with tea.”

“Oh!” She starts laughing. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Yeah, it’s just that way.” She points, and this time the directions is actually lucid enough to understand. “Just to the left. Do you want me to walk you there?” 

“No, that is not necessary. You should continue with your celebrations.” 

“Okay! Good luck, and, uh.” She winks at him. “Happy fourth.” 

Happy fourth? Spock does not know what this means., but he nods tightly and continues walking, pulling the cap as far down as it will go on his head. Hopefully nobody has recognized him as vulcan yet, but he does not want to keep his hopes up too high; he always ends up disappointed. 

There--Blow Me. It looks like a rundown cottage. The walls are wood panels and worn away with constant buffeting from the salt and rain, but the sign above the door is bright and cheerful, the font somehow both blocky and curvy at the same time. Spock turns at the doorknob and the bell rings when he pushes through.

The room leaves him breathless.

Oregon so far has been beautiful and he has greatly appreciated being able to experience it, but he has never felt quite so home until now. Blow Me is full of intricately blown glass of all colors. It hangs from the ceilings. It covers the walls. It fills shelf after shelf. 

Spock approaches one and lifts it to his face, studying it. It is… flawless. Its essence is perfectly curled around it, weaving its existence with a kind of assurance that Spock has only ever seen on Vulcan, in the presence of those who understand its inner workings. Whoever made these must be vulcan, but Spock never knew there was a vulcan living here.

“Hey, can I help you?”

Spock puts down the glass piece before he turns to face his addresser: a young man, thick apron tied around his neck and waist, his face soft around the edges, smile even softer. 

“Looking for something?” the young man asks. Spock looks at the glass surrounding him and he can only think of one thing to say: 

“Where is your vulcan employee?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock meet; pretty dish ware is logical

It is later now, the sun farther in the sky and beating heavily down through the windows of Blow Me, the glass blowing shop Jim works for Pike at. Pike is only twenty eight to Jim’s twenty, but he inherited the shop from the man who taught him when he passed away. When Bones had found Jim on the beach, sopping wet, sick, and lost, the first person Bones had called was Pike. He has worked for him ever since, at this point Jim has probably spent a good third of his life since moving to Far Water, Oregon learning and practicing the trade. 

It's the fourth, so Jim doesn't have to open the shop. Pike isn't coming in today, he’d shook his said a little sadly when Jim had insisted on opening but not said a thing. Far Water was far off from all the main roads and beach towns, so they don't usually get the hoard of vacationers that was common for a beach. Blow Me was a well known shop, renowned for its artistry and one of the few points that did get visitors, but they still did most of their business online. 

Somehow, Jim doesn't think that this visitor was here for his blown glass. 

“Where is your Vulcan employee?” the Vulcan is handsome, with sharp features and shiny hair with bangs straight across his forehead that really shouldn’t work but somehow did. He wears a soft brown tunic with patterns Jim can't recognize, swishy pants, and heavy black boots. 

“Um, I’m sorry but you must have the wrong shop man. No one here but me and another human.” The man's eyebrows crease together slightly and he lookes around the shop with concern, or maybe intrigue. It is hard to tell. 

“Who makes your pieces?” 

“Look, it’s just our stuff, I’m sorry, man. If you’re looking for something made by a Vulcan I can’t help you.” Jim hopes he wasn’t being weird, but the Vulcan is so earnest, curious, and holds himself in such a contained manner. Not a hair on his head seems to be out of place. Do Vulcans care about appearances? This one was certainly stylish enough to. 

“Fascinating.” The Vulcan does not explain further as he gazes around at the glowing glass. It sparkled in the sunlight, the front of Pikes shop was completely windows that overlooked the beach. Jim smiles slightly at him. 

“Can I help you with something?” The man appeares somewhat startled, a mild green green flush gracing his cheeks and retreating so fast Jim isn't entirely sure that it's not just an oddly timed reflection from one of his pieces. He looks quickly to Jim; his entire body seemed to calm. 

“I was told by a loud Scottish man that I may find tea here.” Jim gestures to one of the tables that sat on the right side of him. 

“If you’d like to sit there are tables. I have a few types of tea, they’re on the board.” Jim nods to the board and the man looks slightly lost at it. “ Or I can recommend something? I don’t think that I have any Vulcan teas, sorry.” 

“That is understandable. I am willing to try a human tea, whichever you would recommend should suffice.” 

“It will be a few moments.” 

“That is acceptable.” The man makes his way to the seats, choosing one closest to the windows directly in the sunlight. 

The tea selection that Jim has suddenly seemed inadequate. He shiftes through them several times, hesitating, he doesn’t know a thing about Vulcans, not near enough to make an educated guess about what he might like. Green. Jim smiles slightly at that. Sure. 

“It’s um, good for you, I think. That’s what Bones tells me anyway.” Jim stands awkwardly in front of the Vulcan with one of the cups he had made for the shop when he decided to start selling teas. 

“It should be sufficient.” 

“Okay, well, if you don’t require anything else…” He very awkwardly begins shuffling back to behind the desk when the Vulcan speaks. 

“I will be purchasing something of yours.” He seems almost surprised at his own words. 

“Great! Well, I’m Jim and I’ll just be… around when you need something.” 

“I am Spock.” Jim grins, and Spock stares. Jim forces himself to shove the grin off his face. He probably looks absolutely ridiculous. He makes his way back behind the counter, glad that he decided to bring tea into the shop and sneakily looking back to Spock every few minutes when he can't help himself, like a kid peaking between his fingers at the adult parts of a movie. 

The man (Vulcan? Dd they do genders like humans did? The complete lack of knowledge about Vulcans aside from the fact that they had magic and had fought hundreds of years ago to be left alone had only bothered Jim in a passing manner before this, now it seemed an atrocity) lookes splendid with the sunlight pouring onto him, although he was fairly pale it seemed to bring out a green tint to his skin. Jim finds it exceptionally pleasing. 

After about thirty minutes of stealing the occasional look at Spock and organizing his already meticulous counter and cupboards, Jim pulles out his phone and stares at his favorites list. Bones, Nyota, and Sulu. He hesitates. Bones would grumpily not care about the information but probably secretly be intrigued, Nyota might abandon her post and run to Jim’s. Sulu is probably making out with Ben or staring lovingly at his plants. 

He decides against telling anyone. He will tell them later, at the Fourth of July party that Bones was throwing and Jim had reluctantly agreed to show up to instead of stealing Pikes alcohol and hiding one of his favorite spots in the woods like he had last year. Joanna had made a very compelling case to Jim after all. 

“This is most aesthetically pleasing.” Spock’s voice startles Jim out of his reverie. Spock is looking at a set of dishware. 

“I made those a few weeks ago, they’re based on the planets in our solar system.” Jim had been pleased with them but looking at them now he can see every single thing that he would have done differently. 

“They would be most logical. I do not believe that I brought any of my own.” 

“Well, you’re welcome to buy them. They’re for sale!” Jim winces. He sounds awkward and strange, his voice octaves above what he liked to keep it at. He mentally slaps himself. “Was the uh, tea good?” He tries again just to be sure that his voice hadn’t magically gone to pre testosterone levels. 

“It was acceptable.” Jim frownes. He had thought that green tea was good, at the least. 

“Good?” 

“It was not bad.” Maybe that is Vulcan for good. It's unlike anyone else Jim had spoken to, but not in an unpleasant way. 

“Would you like the whole set?”

“That would be acceptable.” Jim wonders if this man had ever purchased anything before in his life. 

“Okay, that will be 300.” Spock nods and pulls out a wallet, but Jim is fairly sure that he catches a brief flash of surprise. “Would you still like the whole set?” 

“Yes. I simply did not take into account that this is not simple dish ware.” 

“There’s a shop a few roads down that would be cheaper, if you like.” 

“I would like to purchase this set, if that is not a problem.” Jim takes the card he held awkwardly out towards Jim and scans it. 

“What are you doing arriving in Far Water on the Fourth of July?” Spock’s brows raise spectacularly and Jim realizes immediately his mistake. 

“How did you know that this is my first day in Far Water?” At least he doesn't sound offended, merely curious. Jim takes that for a victory. A very small victory.

“It’s a small town. People talk. And uh, one of my friend may have been working in the forest at the time of your arrival.” Spock’s eyebrow manages to raise higher, Jim can't see much of it at this point. 

“May have?” 

“She totally did.” 

“I suppose that is a logical explanation.” 

“That’s not what your face says.” 

“My face does not talk.” 

“I mean, your facial expression doesn’t seem like you think that it’s a logical explanation.” 

“You presume that you can read my facial expression?” Jim is not handling this conversation well. And plus, Spock has a point. Being drawn to this attractive stranger was no excuse to presume he had any idea outside of his own imagination about the man he was talking with. Maybe his eyebrows meant nothing at all. 

“I apologize. Human thing,” Jim says. 

“You were not... entirely inaccurate.” Jim’s theory that Vulcans said things by saying what they weren’t was growing stronger with nearly every word out of Spock’s mouth. 

“Oh uh, great. Hang on, let me put those in some packaging so that they don’t get hurt. What brings you ‘round these parts anyways?” When did he become Bones? Who says round these parts?

“I believe the answer to your question is that I am here to do research on the alarmingly low fish population. It is highly unusual for this region in this century.” Jim does’t try to hide his surprise, though he isn't sure what he had been expecting, why, other than business, would a vulcan visit an entirely human town of Far Water, Oregon? Well, not that he has enough information to know. Every question Jim had asked George about Vulcans had resulted in at best vague gestures and snorts, and at worse deliberate anger. 

“And you walked here?” 

“No public transportation exists within miles, and as I do not own a car, it seemed the most logical and cost efficient decision.” Jim laughs quietly, and it comes so easily he surprises himself.

“Yeah, it’s a strange place to get to and from. Sorry if you don’t want to indulge my curiosity, I can’t seem to help myself sometimes. I’ve never met a uh…” Jim trailes off. What a stupid and unnecessary piece of information. Spock looks as if he was nearly amused with Jim, and though it does not stop Jim’s cheeks warming, it at least calms his nerves slightly. 

“I am aware that most humans have had little, often nothing, to do with Vulcans.” His words have a kind tone to them, and Jim looks up from his packaging of items. 

“Yeah, nothing here. Again though, you don’t need to indulge my curiosity. I am aware that vulcans are private. Or at least, that’s what everyone has told me.” 

“Is there something wrong with curiosity? You have now mentioned twice that I need not indulge it. My entire profession relies on curiosity, as does most advancements throughout history.” Jim wraps a few utensils carefully before answering. 

“Yeah, no, there is not. It’s just a human failing. Plus, I wouldn’t normally prescribe it, but there must be a reason that I’ve never met a Vulcan before.” 

“That is most… considerate of you, Jim.” Jim is beaming a probably weird amount, but he can’t make himself care or stifle it. The timbre of Spock’s voice and the way he seemed to almost approve of Jim’s reasoning pleases him unduly. 

“All right, all done. Hope they’re helpful.” Spock nods and takes the box. 

“Goodbye, Jim.” 

“Bye, Spock!” The vulcan makes his way to the door. There's a brief moment when he reaches the door that Jim thinks he might turn around, but it was gone so suddenly he thinks he might have imagined it. 

* * *

 

When Bones comes into the shop at five P.M. (the time Jim had reluctantly given for when he would be available) Jim is on his fourth wipe down of the shop. 

“Hey, kid, people are starting to gather. I promised them our rosy cheeked little artist.” Jim nods, and continues to wipe the counter. He hears Bones give a little sigh and then the rag is being lifted gently out of his hands. 

“I was using that.” 

“Looks like you must’ve cleaned this place at least twice over by now, Jim. Come on, Sulu and Nyota are expecting you. Me and Joanna too. Hell, most of the town is expecting you.” 

“Yeah. I know, Bones, I promised didn’t I.” 

“I ain’t leaving without you, so it’s talk to me more or get our asses to the party.” Jim groans. 

“Yeah, okay, I’ve had enough of heart to hearts for a while thanks.” Plus, he would just be rehashing what he had told Bones this morning while crying on his lap. 

“So we’re leaving.” Jim nods, but he makes no move to leave. Bones looks around the shop for a minute, hoping the time will let Jim collect himself. Bones had pulled Jim Kirk into things kicking and screaming before, but he prefers those to be “Hey I need to make sure you’re not completely destroying your ribs binding” and “jesus fuck I know that you don’t like doctors but shots are important, Jimmy” not “I happened to promise the party that our adopted kid would be okay enough for a Fourth of July party.” 

“Okay, okay, I think I’m ready now.” To Bones’s surprise, Jim actually seems to have been doing something while he stared around the shop, (Jim and Pike really did make some absolutely stunning pieces, so much so that Joanna was determined to be just like her Uncles Jimmy and Christopher Robin) he held a box that had dozens of plates, cups, and bowls as well as some things Bones had the suspicion might be gifts. 

“If you think I’m helping carry those you’re sorely mistaken.” Jim grins. 

“Aw, come one Bones, it’s special made Fourth of July shit for your party. I had Pike make most of it but…” 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t help us set up so I think it’s owed.” 

“I had work!” Jim says indignantly as they made their way out of Blow Me. 

“As if you aren’t basically your own boss. I bet you didn’t even sell a damn thing,” Bones says with a little snort.

“Actually,” Jim says in a tone of someone about to prove Beyonce was illuminati, “that Vulcan came in and bought a set of dishware.” 

“And it took you that long to tell me? I’m impressed Jimbo.” 

“Oh shut up, I wanted to drop it around Nyota and Hikaru. Plus, I had kind of forgotten.” 

“You? Forget a mysterious stranger Nyota described as stoically handsome?” 

“I may have thought about him a few times throughout the day.” For most of the day until the looming fourth of July party had taken over his brain. 

“There’s my sappy gay.” Jim sticks out his tongue. 

“I’d punch you if someone wasn’t making me carry all of the supplies.” 

* * *

 

“Uncle Jim!” someone squeals and slams their tiny body into Jim's right after he's set the box down. Jim pats the top of her curly hair, chuckling slightly. She has the same bright blue eyes as her Dad, sparkling in a similarly mischievous manner. Seeing Bones with her was the closest Jim ever got to understanding a family made of blood. 

“Jojo! Have you grown since I saw you last?” Joanna’s body did a wiggle of excitement and she giggles up at him. 

“You saw me yesterday, Uncle Jimmy! I don’t grow in a single day!” It was something of a tradition of theirs, the old cliche turned on its head. 

“Hmm,” Jim dramatically pats his cleanly shaven face thoughtfully, “maybe we ought to remeasure you soon anyway, can’t miss a centimeter.” Joanna rolls her eyes, giving him a done look that was so McCoy Jim was almost uncomfortable.

“Jim! You made it, man.” Hikaru Sulu is practically bouncing over to them, he always seems to have walk like there were mini trampolines in his shoes, Pavel chekov trailing behind him and somehow ever bouncier. 

“It is very nice to see you!” Chekov came from a tiny Russian town, had arrived a few years before Jim himself after his family died and they miraculously found he had a Scottish relative living all the way in Far Water, Oregon. He's a kid genius, taking college level classes since he was thirteen years old. At this point, Jim has given up on keeping track of all the things Pavel was doing with his time. 

“Pavel! Hikaru! Is Nyota around?” They nod, gesturing for him to follow and he lets go of Joanna who turns and trots away right back into Bones's house. Pavel and Hikaru lead him past several table of food and drink to farther in Bones’s back yard (as Bones lived in a cottage in the forest off the beach, his backyard sort of extended into the parks and forest, but the party was confined to the spacious open part that was actually his) where Nyota is sitting next to a tree, still in her Rangers uniform, singing softly to some plants while an awestruck Christine Chapel watches her. Jim grins. 

“Notes!” Nyota looks up and stops singing, refusing to smile though it can easily be seen in her eyes. 

“Still not a good nickname, Jimbo.” 

“Oh, and Jimbo is so much better?” Nyota opens her mouth to respond but Hikaru beats her to it. 

“So what’s the news?” The rotten gossip. Jim almost feels bad breaking the news about Spock to the chattiest most live tweeting shopkeeper of them all. He seems quiet, like someone who minded his own business when you first met him, but it was a sham. He always had his ear to the ground and he tweeted so much it became similar to the self writing quills in harry potter (only completely accurate of course). 

“So you guys know there’s a Vulcan in town right?” 

“Aye, he came to my shop looking for some tea. As if I’d just have some lying around!” Scotty has meandered over to them, and he looks absolutely astonished at the idea, making the group chuckle and exchange amused glances. 

“Well he came into my shop on your instruction and-” but Jim is interrupted by Christine Chapel who looks like she might actually explode if she didn’t get to insert her bit of information into the story.

“Yeah thanks a lot for that Scotty! He asked me to direct him to blow me but it was windy and loud and some idiots were running by arguing over America versus Russia-” very amused glances, “and so I thought some Vulcan was telling me to blow him! I swear I almost had a heart attack!” The group bursts into laughter, Nyota rolling onto Chapel she was laughing so hard. Chapel does not appear to mind. 

“What’s this about?” Bones takes that moment to reappear. 

“Spock told Chapel to blow him!” 

“Why that-” 

“No, no, he was asking for directions but I didn’t catch all of it and…” Chapel trailes off, overcome with more giggling and the tension in Bones's shoulders loosens. 

 

“Wonder if the poor fellow knew enough about human slang to understand what he’d said…” Nyota laughs harder at Bones’s comment, now convulsing back and forth with no sound coming out of her. 

“I seriously doubt he would have shout blow me at Christine if he had…” Jim is entirely aware he sounds like someone who thinks he knows a thing about Spock, but he can’t help it, the man had just behaved so well, differently from humans, for the most part. Though he also certainly wasn’t without his similarities. 

“It seems you aren’t the only one to have an encounter, Jim,” Bones says, a twinkle in his eye that has Jim narrowing his eyes. 

“What did you see old man?” Jim demands, laying down on the grass next to Nyota and Christine where the smell of food is less potent. 

“Strange man. I offered him a cupcake and he seemed to find my aesthetic decorating purposes illogical,” Bones shakes his head perplexedly, “just walked away when I said he didn’t need to eat one if he didn’t want one!” Hikaru meets Jim’s eyes and Jim groans at the little smile crossing his lips from where he stood next to Ben. 

“You too huh, fish man?” 

“Well as it happens, he thought a plant and fish shop was a, dare I say, logical place to look for information about the low fish population.” Hikaru laces his hand with Ben’s, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some cupcakes to devour, glass man who bringeth old news.” 

“I can’t believe how bad you two are at nicknames. I bet you call Ben honey buns,” Nyota said. 

“Well…” Ben receives an absolutely affronted look from his boyfriend at this word, shocked that anyone would believe he, a good fish man, would nickname his boy honey buns. 

“I will not let you besmirch our good reputation O-ben Wan Kenobi.” 

“That’s not exactly what I was going for when I challenged you to not suck at nicknames, Hickory Sulu,” Nyota says, completely oblivious to how much that too, sucks. Sulu and Ben walk away, an amused and snotty air following them. 

“Good reputation,” Chapel mutters to Nyota, a comment missed by all but her and Jim. 

“Well, y’all know where the food is. That’s enough of me taking care of your asses.” Jim wiggles his way into a more comfortable position on the ground and plucks a few pieces of grass out as the crowd disperses, sensing that the stories of the stranger were over. 

Bones lingers, that look on his face that means he was internally warring with whether or not he should check up on someone’s emotions. His role as the “mother hen” of the group won out, as it did more often than he cared for to admit. 

“You gonna get some food?” His look at Jim’s face was steady, measuring. Jim feels his entire self flinch. 

“No, maybe later, Bones.” Bones sits down next to Jim at that, then lays on his back like Jim, looking up at the clouds that spread out across the sky. 

“You want to talk about it?” 

“You could either have me at your party like this not talking about it or you could not have me. You picked.” There's a bite to to Jim’s words and Bones feels his stomach squirm uncomfortably. He pushed Jim to come, used Joanna’s adoration of him in his favor, hell he had used the way everyone going loved him and wanted him there. He swallows the feeling. 

“That one looks kind of like a cupcake.” Jim relaxes at the words, bringing himself back to the present to focus on the clouds above them. 

“I wonder if some weirdo decorated it with really bad bone decorations after finding a kid sick on the beach on Halloween.” 

“I wonder if some idiot started calling the decorator Bones and never, ever, let it go.” 

“They were good cupcakes, at least.” Jim lets the hypothetical slide. He wants to say the baker was a good friend, the cupcakes were the first home made thing he’d eaten in years that wasn’t made by him and likely cereal or a sandwich, but that would be breaking the absolutely no more real talks for a while rule he had made up on Bones’s lap that morning. Plus, Bones was smart. He knows. 

“My decorations aren’t too bad anymore either.” Jim throws a few pieces of grass onto Bones, humming softly. Around them, people were beginning to eat. Jim closes his eyes. He wishes, when he got the look at the hot dogs that used to be his favorite, that he had crushed in his hand and then clutched onto for hours in his barricaded room, that he had not come to this party. 

But he's only been here maybe twenty minutes, if he's lucky. They probably expect him until fireworks. 

“I can’t believe it took some scared kid ripping on your decorations for you to know they sucked. These people had no courage without me.” It was a joke, but it was a statement that needed affirming anyway. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re real important. Come on, Jo Jo’s gonna want some popsicles, and so are you.” 

“I am?” But Jim is already getting up, all the food was outside, and he was pretty sure Bones hadn’t put a cooler full of popsicles outside. He could do with a tiny leonard and something fruity. He hadn’t had them at his mom’s fourth of July bashes. 

“You say that like I didn’t come home from letting you babysit my kid to three empty boxes of popsicles and two sleeping messes.” Jim smiles, wiping off the grass that is stuck on his pants. 

“They were really good popsicles. Plus, they were going to expire. It was the right thing to do, Bones. The noble thing. Every popsicle deserves to be eaten.” 

“How poetic.” 

Jim does a little bow as he walks and stumbles over a stick. 

Inside Bones’s house always smells like baked goods and Jim smiles and feels his shoulders relax at the smell. He stretches his back, wincing slightly, his binder had been on, well, frankly a dangerous amount. That’s what he got for having a breakdown at five am that required Bones on the day of a party. 

Joanna is sitting on the couch, playing with her Amazon women action figures, and she does not look up as they came in. She does’t care too much for crowds, or meat, so the party was really only okay with her because her uncle Jim had promised to come hang out with her. 

“Hey Jo Jo,” Jim says, sitting down beside her and finally getting a glance. She has a look of concern on her face, eyebrows and mouth scrunched to the center of her face. 

“Hey Jim.” 

“What seems to be the problem, Captain Joanna McCoy? Can a popsicle fix it?” Joanna’s frown disappears, and her head lifts back up to look at Jim. 

“Every problem can be fixed by that!” 

“Bonesy? Your finest box of popsicles if you would?” Joanna looks up at her dad with Jim and they stick out their lips and widen their eyes. Bones opens his mouth as if to argue, but then he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“Not your servant,” he grumbles as he sets the box carefully down beside them. Joanna and Jim beam at him and he ruffles Joanna’s hair before heading back outside. 

“So what was this warrior problem I’m sensing on Themyscira...” Jim and Joanna stay inside all day, ignoring the festivities until they are dragged out for fireworks late that night. About twice an hour someone else comes in, offer food, offer fun, but they just shake their heads and continue their stoody destruction of every popsicle in Bones’s home. 

Jim knows it wasn’t quite the presence anyone had been expecting, but when Joanna falls asleep on his shoulder as they watch the fireworks go off from the beach outside of Blow Me, he feels not quite good, not even close to it really, but also not like he is going to throw up or start having a panic attack, so he tries to calm the feeling of failure. 

This was a victory. A small one, but a victory.


	4. Decorated cakes are illogical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock's Fourth of July

To Vulcan standards, the physical appearance of the boy in the shop is largely, well, unspectacular. Though physical appearance is not a high priority in Vulcan culture, the boy’s cheeks are far too rounded, his eyes far too expressive, his hair far too mussed and light to ever stand out if next to a Vulcan. 

Is that perhaps rude? Spock can’t help but think so as the boy slides away, toward the cabinet where he presumably keeps his tea. His parents never taught him much about manners--why should they? On Vulcan, they care little for manners. No, honesty is important. Knowledge is necessary. Efficiency is key. The pursuit of knowledge is likely most vital, but who’s counting? In any sense, Vulcans don’t have time to step lightly around each other; there are things to be done, and manners make such things difficult to accomplish. Spock knows that, should he speak up about his thoughts, that would certainly be rude. He’d learned as much in other towns--that commenting on one’s appearance, unless a compliment, was both unwonted and unwanted. But thinking them? He is not sure about that. He is not sure at all where one must draw the line when it comes to dealing with humans. 

“It’s, um. Good for you. I think.” When the boy comes back with a lovely little blue teacup, string of the tea bag dangling from its rim, his voice is more hesitant. When he speaks, his sentences are short and choppy and incomplete. “That’s what bones tells me, anyway.” He stands there in front of Spock for a long moment, twisting his hands around. Spock looks away from those constantly moving fingers to consider his words. Bones? The most reasonable explanation is that ‘bones,’ for some reason, is a person. Spock is almost horrified that any parent would name their child after a being’s remains. What is next, naming children ‘carrion’?

“It should be sufficient,” Spock says at last, lifting the tea bag out of the already greening water. The flavor curls into the cup’s aura, intermingling with it before rising up into the salty blue aura of the ocean air. Spock has never been in somewhere as peaceful as this shop, and it astonishes him. Vulcan, while beautiful, is not nearly this...free.

“Okay,” says the boy, “Well. If you don’t require anything else.” He moves back to the desk at which he was stationed before Spock can actually answer. 

“I will be purchasing something of yours.” The words come out almost in a rush--not fast enough for a human to detect, but certainly fast enough for Spock to be embarrassed about it. He is purchasing something? He does not need anything. 

But the boy’s face lights up. No, to Vulcan standards, he would be quite plain. There is something about Vulcans and their ability to mingle in realms beyond other understandings that makes them nearly one with nature, and a human would never be able to compete with that. Spock can barely compete with that (though, why should he desire to do so?). But while the boy cannot compete physically, it is his aura that Spock finds astonishing. Warmth radiates from his skin in a constant golden stream. When he smiles, the stream gets even brighter. When he’s flustered, the gold intermingles with soft blues and oranges and reds and whites reminding Spock, for some reason (he supposes it makes sense, when he thinks about it later--later being approximately 3.4 seconds), of a beach sunset. His eyes, too, seem to shine brighter than they should, like there are stars locked away somewhere in his head. “Great!” he says, flashing one of those smiles and almost blinding Spock with the sudden flash of those colors. “Well,” he adds, “I’m Jim, and I’ll be around when you need something.” 

Spock pauses for a fraction too long. Does his essence ever look so beautiful? He doubts it. “I am Spock.” His name sounds so blunt on his tongue. Jim, that seems so...soft, almost. Gentle. Spock is hard consonants and neglected vowels. He must look a fool in front of this Jim--so clumsy and ill-spoken--and Jim’s replying smile seems to confirm this. The colors of his essence stretched toward Spock and twisted with the cold blues of Spock’s own essence, and they each stain each other with the core of who they are. 

Then Jim stops smiling. His aura pulls back, turning soft golden again, and Jim moves back toward the counter. Spock can...taste that golden color on his tongue. He can feel it on his fingers. He turns his face into the sun for a moment, trying to absorb the warm rays so he no longer senses Jim beyond the quiet noises he makes and the sight of him, moving ever so slightly on the outskirts of Spock’s peripheral vision. 

At last, draining the last of his tea (earthy, Spock decides with a satisfied but subtle smack of his lips), Spock can no longer taste that goldenness, and rises from his seat to meander through the many shelves of blown glass items. Jim’s work is...extraordinarily exceptional. This kind of craftsmanship only makes sense if the craftsman (that would be Jim or the other human Jim mentioned, Spock assumes) has an intimate knowledge of realms beyond those in which they exist--and that does not make sense. Jim is human. He looks nothing like a vulcan. He acts nothing like a vulcan. There is no cold blue in his essence, nor does he even try to hold back his blatantly strong emotions. 

It makes no sense. 

Spock reaches over and touches a set of transparent and yet vibrantly-colored dishes, all wildly different and unique. The red one reminds Spock a little of the desert plains of Vulcan. “This is most aesthetically pleasing,” he says out loud before thinking, and Jim jumps a little from behind the desk.

“I made those a few weeks ago,” Jim says, a hesitant smile wavering at his lips. “They’re based on the planets in our solar system.” 

Spock had gathered as much. The ‘earth’ plate was more abstract physically than what most humans would have done, but its dimensional assembly is near-perfect. “They would be most logical,” he hears himself saying, and almost shakes his head afterward--most logical? Who would believe that? To support his argument, he also clumsily tacked on: “I do not believe that I brought any of my own.” 

He didn’t bring any of his own? Spock closes his eyes for a brief moment.

He is such a fool.

 

After the fiasco at the glassware shop, Spock carries his paper-wrapped dishes with him to the hotel at the end of the road. He does not need dishes--especially these, which seem far too elegant for traveling. He decides as he unlocks his hotel door that he’ll send them to Amanda as a gift. She would enjoy them, and Sarek would certainly be impressed when he heard they were created by a human. 

Amanda may also rub Sarek’s astonishment in his face until Spock returned, and Spock is not entirely opposed to that. Somebody needs to keep Sarek in line. 

He drops everything off in the room (small and neatly decorated, which Spock appreciates) and then grabs his gear and heads out again. He spent far too much time at the glassware shop, and there is, as Amanda likes to say, “no time like the present.”

Shaking these thoughts from the front of his mind, Spock neatly buckles the straps of his backpack and starts walking down the street toward the beach. He already knows where some of the stores are, as he kept close observation of their layout as he was navigating his way to the tea, but he’d like to be more familiar with it--especially if he’s going to be staying here for a while.

On his right is a quaint little shop with softly golden walls and a sign that reads “Sulu’s Fish and Plant Place: The Softest Place On Earth.” Spock releases his breath. The softest place on earth? He very much doubts that. Nevertheless, the sign advertises fish, so he pushes his way through, ignores the loud jangle of bells announcing his entrance, and makes his way to the counter, where a slender Asian man smacks dutifully on his register. 

“Hey! How can I help you?” His voice is deep and smooth, and though he seems very young, there are already smile lines on his face. 

“Unfortunately,” Spock tells him, “I am not here to make any purchases, but if you could provide me with information, I would be grateful.” The phrasing of this tastes sour on his tongue. Gratefulness--that is a human concept. Vulcans are logical and therefore do things out of logic; gratefulness (and thankfulness) would dictate that a vulcan carried out an action for another vulcan, and not for the pursuit of knowledge. It is not necessarily wrong, but it is a sort of cultural faux-pas.

 

The man does not pick up on any of this. Why should he? “Sure! I’ll try my best. I can’t promise I’ll know anything, though.” 

Spock nods and picks out his notebook from where it sits in the side backpack pocket. He flips it open and his pen hangs poised over its surface. “These fish--are they local?” 

“Most of them, yeah. If somebody orders something, though, I get it shipped in. Like that eel over there.” He points to a tank to Spock’s left, and Spock looks mostly out of politeness. It’s a echidna nebulosa, or, as the humans call it a ‘snowflake moray.’ He raises one eyebrow and looks back at the cashier.

“From where did you ship that? The Red Sea?” 

The cashier looks surprised. “Uh, no. From Costa Rica, actually. A friend of mine down there got lucky when he was diving and it was just what one of my customers requested, so.” 

This isn’t what Spock came for, and he shouldn’t have gotten distracted. To transition the conversation, he says, “It is quite beautiful. Do you find yourself shipping in more foreign fish recently?” 

Now the cashier thinks for a moment. He pushes his register closed, drops onto the stool at the back of his legs, and leans on the counter. “Uh. No, I don’t think so. But that’s just because I only ship in fish that people specifically order.” One of his hands plays at his cell as Spock writes this down. “Most people are just satisfied with local fish. They may not be as pretty as the tropical ones, but they’ve got character.”

“Are you finding the local fish in their usual abundance?” 

“It rises and falls. Right now, it’s falling.” 

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Faster than usual?” 

“A little, maybe. I’m trying not to worry about it.” 

Spock writes this down, too, then snaps his notebook shut and tucks it back into its place. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he says, and turns to leave.

“Hey, wait. Can I ask you something?” 

Spock pauses and looks over his shoulder. The cashier is touching one of his ears, which probably means he’ll be asking a lot of questions about Vulcan soon. “Are you a reporter?” 

A what? “No,” Spock says, “I am not. I am a marine biologist.” 

“You’re investigating Far Water?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“The fish population is reportedly farther down than it should be.” 

The cashier’s glabella creases, and he strokes his chin like there should be a beard there. “According to who?” 

“I received several reports on the matter, from several different members of your town. Do not worry,” he adds, moving to the door. “They did not know that I was vulcan upon their requests. They were likely just requesting a human marine biologist.” 

“Why would--” 

Spock pushes open the door and the loud ring of the bells drowns out the rest of the cashier’s words.

 

He goes to the fish market next, which is on the edge of the town likely due to the smell. He interviews a few of the venders there, jotting down notes. The town, apparently, is suffering in its fish population--not in small fish like the cashier at “Sulu’s Fish and Plant Place: The Softest Place On Earth,” but rather big fish. The fish that the town lives off of for food. Something is depleting the supply and it is Spock’s job to fix it, if he can.

“Hey!” 

As he walks back to the hotel, the cashier begins hollering at him. 

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name!” 

“Spock,” says Spock. Once again, he does not provide his full family name. It would likely cause more confusion than it would solve.

“I’m Hikaru Sulu. And, uh. I just remembered something that might help you.” 

Spock tugs out his notebook and gets ready to write. 

“There’s a spot just off the beach with really easy access to water. I don’t know how you do your diving, but it’s super easy to get in from this spot.” 

“May I have directions?” 

“I don’t have directions, but I do have coordinates.” 

Spock nods and Hikaru lists them off for him. “Thank you. If it is possible, can you warn your townspeople to give this spot a twenty-five-or-so meter radius? I don’t want any data being harmed by interfering citizens.” 

“Interfering--” 

“I do not mean it as an insult, sir. My most sincere apologies.” 

“Yeah, just…” Hikaru gives Spock a sort of half-smile. “Try not to word things like that.” 

“Thank you for your advice. And, certainly, thank you for the coordinates. I shall be on my way.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Hikaru plucks two flowers from one of the many hanging baskets behind his door, handing one to Spock and tucking the other behind his ear. “For the trip.” 

Spock doesn’t know what to say. He stares down at the tiny, delicate flower in his hand and walks away without another word.

 

The coordinates with which HIkaru provided him lead Spock to a small, rocky shore with a sharp decline into deep water. He stands for a moment on this shore, just breathing in the air, before taking off his backpack and stripping out of his clothes. In the early days of his marine biology, Spock did not deem it necessary to change into a wetsuit, and for many of his assignments, it was not; each of the assignments brought him to warm, tropical waters. But after a trip to Alaska shoreline, Spock began to pack a wetsuit and dutifully changed into it each time he went under the water. 

He finishes changing and sets up a couple sensors on the shore before grabbing the rest of his equipment, fitting the mouthpiece on, and slipping into the water. It is--Spock grits his teeth--icy cold. He was warned of this before he arrived, and he did not entirely believe it. The beauty of Oregon beaches certainly defied its viewer with the temperature of its water.

He paddles several meters offshore, then swims all the way to the bottom. There are a few fish here--a small amount, but not so small that it’s concerning, as this is just off land--and Spock takes mental note of the different types before concentrating his full attention on setting up the rest of his equipment: four cameras, eight thermometers, a few ultraviolet sensors, and (Spock’s hesitant favorite), thermal imaging. Then he swims his way back to the surface and drags himself up onto the rocks, deftly stripping off the wetsuit again and drying himself off afterward with the soft towel he keeps rolled up at the bottom of his bag. He sits for a moment, stretching out his legs across the towel, letting his hair dry naturally and watching the ocean lap up against the rocks.

He likes it here. It’s quiet. It’s far away from other people, and the people who are nearby have so far not been outwardly hostile toward him. The boy at the glassware shop--Jim--was certainly curious, but he hadn’t been, as Amanda puts it, “mean” about it.

When a chill settles over Spock’s bare skin, he decides it’s time to head back to his room. He dresses himself again, packs up the rest of his items, and begins walking.

The town is not nearly as quiet as it was when he left. Instead, it bustles with activity. The streets are crowded with what seems to be the entire population of Far Water. Spock can see the blonde he interrogated earlier, but deftly avoids her by stepping through a crowd of people and moving more quickly toward his hotel room.

“You hungry?” A human’s southern--states drawl catches Spock’s attention, and when he looks to his left, he sees an older human protecting a stand with his entire body. 

“Pardon me?” says Spock politely, since he made eye contact and would rather not risk being more vulcan than he needs. 

“I said, you hungry?” 

“Not particularly, no.” 

The human steps to one side and brandishes the contents of the stand: assorted baked goods. “Not even for cupcakes?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Pardon me?” he says again.

“Cupcakes. You don’t have cupcakes where you’re from?” 

“We do not, no.” Curious, Spock ventures closer and inspects each of the baked goods. “Which ones are the cupcakes?” 

The man points them out. The name, Spock decides, is appropriate: they are approximately cup-sized cakes. “I’m Leonard Mccoy. I own the bakery up the road a ways.” 

“Why are there such elaborate decorations on your...cupcakes?” 

 

Leonard scoffs and crosses his arms. Spock recognizes this as disdain, or perhaps condescension “Uh, because they’re cupcakes? That’s how they’re made, sir.” He spits out this last word rather oddly, like it tastes bad in his mouth. 

“Does that not make your cakes harder to eat?” 

For a long time, Leonard just stares at Spock. His mouth hangs open a little and his eyebrows are drawn tightly together. Then he says, “Yeah. But it makes them prettier, doesn’t it?” 

Spock straightens up again, tilting his head. “Do you consider aesthetics of food to be more important than practicality?” 

“Listen, man. If you don’t want the damn cupcakes, don’t eat a damn cupcake.” 

“If you say so,” says Spock, and walks away feeling a little puzzled. Humans have never made sense to him, but for some reason, Far Water is proving more perplexing than usual.

There are loud bangs all night, and it takes intense meditation to drown them out and finally go to sleep.


	5. Vulcan Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim walks with Nyota in the forest, gossiping ensues. Pike is a suspicious man.

It isn’t that Jim hasn’t been known to wander around the state parks of Oregon, particularly the one Nyota works at that takes up much of the land surrounding Far Water, it's just that he has never rolled out of bed at five A.M on any day of the week willingly that isn’t a day he is about to go on vacation. 

But here he is at Nyota’s starting point for a day of work, waiting with a little grin on his face, a backpack full of water, and his sturdiest boots. 

Upon seeing Jim her eyes narrow and she stops her strides completely. 

“Do my eyes deceiveth me or is James Kirk up and waiting for me at my place of work? Did someone die?” Jim and Nyota have bonded over a great many things since becoming friends two years ago, but by far one of the most annoying to those around them was their love of throwing in olden times sounding words wherever they pleased. 

“You are deceivethed not, fair maiden!” Nyota barks a laugh, continuing towards Jim. Jim has always though the site of Nyota in her rangers uniform to be almost too adorable, and he grins back a her. 

“Sorry, neither.” she accepts the coffee Jim offers, laden with excessive caramel and white chocolate just like they both like it. 

“Yeah, I suppose not.” 

“So why are you up at dawn? You’ve never met me in the morning at work before.” 

“Oh you know, I just thought I could use more fresh air. I really haven’t explored enough of the woods these past couple of years, too much time spent just blowing glass… that kind of thing, you get me?” Jim Kirk likes to do this thing where he pretends that it’s not completely obvious that he is lying. It is his favorite type of lying. 

“You’re trying to find the cute Vulcan.” Jim puts a mock offended hand over his chest with the hand not holding his coffee and gasps. 

“Please, Nyota, I would never use your forest expertise for such a task. We haven’t hung out enough recently.” At least the ending statement is true to Jim. 

“We had a sleepover last week after shopping all day, Jim.” 

“I know that voice. That’s your fake done with me voice. You love our time together and you are pleased that I am here.” 

“It’s still highly suspicious.” 

“Can’t you just enjoy this time? I won’t be able to get out for a few weeks soon, Notes, just let me have this.” Nyota shakes her head fondly and begins her first round without another word, Jim following her with a shit eating grin. The path starts on a mountain that goes horribly uphill, Jim almost gives up at the sight, if he is going to find Spock investigating the woods (which would just be a nice bonus, and was definitely not his prime objective here) he does not want to be a human tomato. There is a truth to what he had said to Nyota though, he does have a tendency to miss his friends whenever he isn’t around them, and he is about to have a surgery that will make him unadvised to move much for several weeks. He is already preemptively going stir crazy about that. 

“You excited about top surgery? I remember when pike got his, he cried for like, the rest of the summer with happiness. Actually, I think he still might be crying with happiness.” That had been years before Jim had made it to Far Water, and Nyota was just a young teen

“I think that bit of information might tell you what you need to know about my excitement levels.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s called a conversation you ass.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you, Nyota-learns-languages-all-the-time-for-shits-and-giggles-Uhura, can’t think up a good enough conversation piece!” 

“It’s early, Jimbo, god I can’t believe you actually seem hyper. I don’t get hyper until the fourth trail change in the morning.” Jim huffs a slightly breathless laugh. He can see a flattening of trail a good thirty feet in front of them and he mentally thanks all the gods he doesn't believe in. It isn’t that Jim isn’t used to working out, it is just that Nyota had extremely long legs and walks at an extremely fast pace. Once Jim had gotten his binder and made it to Far Water, his exercise regime had eased. Eased too much, it would seem. 

“I may have taken a five hour energy before getting coffee. My heart is like a caffeinated humming bird with ADHD.” Nyota stops to turn and stare at her friend. A slight breeze sweeps through the trees and her ponytail swooshes to the side elegantly. 

“Do I really need to call Bones on your ass Jim I swear to god…” Jim is frantically waving his arms in protest before Nyota has even gotten through her entire sentence. 

“I’ve done this before, come on, I’m not a child.” 

“As someone who has mixed five hour energy with energy drinks and mentally projected into like, the twelfth plane, I don’t feel like I can judge you. Come on, we’ll go on an easier, prettier route for your frail self.” Jim wants to protest, but his back was already screeching, as well as his lungs, calves, and brain, so he lets it be. 

“Oh god, I knew we were friends for a reason. Why the hell would you do that?” Nyota takes a turn onto a field, the wind is picking up and Jim is grateful for the feeling, he had worn a sweater that he knows bring out his chocolatey brown eyes, as well as some thick pants that were made of a frankly terrifyingly hot material. Jim has never actually seen this part of the park before, and he wonders if it didn’t just change sometimes to fuck with him. Nyota doesn’t seem fazed though.

“I said hey guys want to see what would happen if I mixed this combination of corner store junk? And they said oh god Nyota please don’t, and then I said don’t tell me what to do and spent the next twenty four hours in hell.” Jim laughs but stops abruptly and clutches next to him to find Nyota’s arm. 

There were deer all the time in Far Water, but it doesn’t matter how many times Jim Kirk see's a deer on a walk or in a yard, a lone whale or seal out on the water, an especially adorable bee sucking on some flowers, he is going to get excited and quietly scream in awe to his friends. 

“She’s beautiful,” he breathes. His awe is the furthest thing from fake, and Nyota takes his arm in hers with a fond look in her eyes. 

“She’s an exceptional example of deer kind.” Jim scoffs lightly, taking a careful step forward into the field. He frownes and looked down at his boots, they looked good, and they were comfortable and sturdy enough, but they are so warm, and the grass looks so soft. 

“Oh just take them off, it’s not as if they were a gift from a close friend or anything.” Nyota had gotten them for Jim for his last birthday, it was her opinion that everyone needed a good pair of boots. It is something of a life philosophy. 

“Hey you know I love them,” Jim says in a somewhat defensive tone, “a boys just gotta get some grass between his toes sometimes.” It was something of a life philosophy. 

“So what was Spock like?” Nyota is like him in this way, she always wants to know more about everything. She continues standing as Jim, now shoeless, sinks gleefully onto the meadow, slowly, trying not to startle the deer. 

Jim thinks for a moment, raking his hands through the grass, which shines with the early morning light in a way that almost made Jim wish he made himself get up early more often. But not really, because he couldn’t stand to think of being too tired to stare up at the stars each night.  
“He was definitely different, from how everyone I know just. Seems. But it wasn’t bad you know? It was… hard to figure out if he was being professional and him-ish or if he thought I was an idiot,” Jim smiles, which would have seemed out of place after that sentence to Nyota if anyone but Jim Kirk had said it, “I think he might have actually liked my art.” Nyota shakes her head a little with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course he did, your stuffs amazing.” 

“It was kind of a backhanded compliment though.” Jim rolls over onto his stomach, setting his chin onto a lump in the ground, which gives him a wonderful view of the ocean through the side of the grassy meadow that was not the tree covered forestry they had come from.

“How was it backhanded?” 

“He was pretty insistent that a Vulcan had made my stuff. Like it couldn’t possibly have been created by a human.” 

“Jim…” Nyota had been watching the ocean and turnes to look at the red cheeked, sad eyed boy in wonder. He squints up at her. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Vulcans have magic.” 

“Yeah? And?” 

“Oh my god, Jim. They have magic.” 

“You just said that, Notes.” 

“Oh dear lord okay, I know that we don’t know shit about Vulcans really, but I thought this one would have been obvious. They have magic, so the things that they make, they tend to have a sort of… magic to them to. Like leaving a fingerprints where you touch, but magic prints.” 

“No way.” 

“Yeah.”

“No freakin’ way, Nyota.” 

“Yeah.” 

“There’s literally no way that he asked for a Vulcan adamantly because there was a magic to my work. It just. No. It doesn’t make sense. I’m not that good.” Nyota shrugs, and offers him a hand that he takes to pull him up. 

“You are, though. Plus, it kind of is the only explanation that makes sense, and you know that if you’re honest.” 

“Maybe it was Pike’s stuff?” Jim offers feebly as he brushes the grass off of himself. 

“He wouldn’t have bought one of your most expensive sets of dishware if it was Pike’s stuff that he thought a Vulcan had made.” 

“Maybe Pike knows a Vulcan who helped him or secretly has some Vulcan in him or something.” 

“You don’t believe that. Come on, we should get going.” Jim is pleased when the deer doesn't move away from them as they pass it. 

Jim leaves Nyota at a point close enough to town to reach Blow Me by the time he needs to be there to set up (though not before hounding Nyota about a one Christine Chapel, a conversation that didn’t go anywhere near as far as Jim had hoped but at least did result in confirmation that they weren’t actually a couple yet, nor even dating, somehow).

Pike is there when he arrives, and the sign is already flipped to open. 

“I can’t believe you opened early. We hardly ever even get business. In fact, if you weren’t rich and we didn’t have a site with amazing foot traffic, there’s no way that we would still be in business.” 

“So.. Who bought the planets set?” Pike says, dismissing Jim, a not uncommon occurrence for him.

“Okay, just because you and number one were off canoodling and missed our big gossip session doesn’t mean that I think you missed the gossip old man.” 

“I’m eight years older than you.”

“You know damn well who bought my set.” 

“Yeah but I want to hear you gush over the handsome mysterious stranger.” 

“I do not gush!” 

“You also do not attempt to find the Vulcan at dawn by stalking Nyota’s work.” Jim narrows his eyes and moves behind the counter with Pike.

“Does anyone have anything better in this town to do than to talk about what I am up to?” Pike smirks and straightens some teas that don’t really need to be straightened. 

“Oh calm down. It’s interesting, that a Vulcan cares enough to come to some small town with a slightly lowered fish population is all.” 

“What, are you trying to say Vulcans aren’t nice?” He can’t help the offended tone. Spock had seemed a bit weird, sure, but he wasn’t exactly mean. Pike shakes his head, slightly bemused. 

“I don’t know enough to be saying anything about any Vulcans. I’ve just never had one around here before, and no one hears anything about them venturing out of Vulcan all that often.” 

“So? they’re private.” 

“So why does this one care?” 

“He’s a marine biologist. It’s his job.” 

“Maybe.” Jim laughs. Pike has always been a suspicious guy, and he knows that by the time Pike is done with the town, they’ll all think that maybe Spock is some federal agent sent to spy on them. They lapse into a comfortable silence for a few moments while Jim works up the courage to ask Pike what Nyota insisted he should. 

“Hey do you happen to have any Vulcan in you?” If Pike had been drinking something, he surely would have spit it out at that. 

“We just go over all of that and you think I might be part Vulcan?” 

“No, oh my god, I’ve heard way too much about your life to think you’re really Vulcan, it’s just that he, Spock that is,” Pike’s face tells that Jim really needn’t have clarified who the he was, “was pretty adamant that we had a Vulcan making some of our stuff.” Pike shrugs. 

“Maybe Vulcans aren’t very creative.” 

Pike and Jim close down the shop for the day after lunch, choosing to both work in their studio instead. Jim’s glad, he never really knows how to tell Pike when they’re in the shop that he’d much rather be working on his things, it’s irrational, but all of the equipment does belong to Pike. Try as he might to take care of himself, ever since Bones pulled him into his house the day that they met, Jim has belonged to the whole town. It’s nice in some ways, but in others. He always liked to be in control of his own life. 

It’s relaxing, and it’s consuming in just the way that Jim thinks maybe Pike knew that he needed right now, and he works until Pike stops him and questions him about his binder, and when it’s been on for fourteen hours he says he can either take it off here, or at home. When Jim groans about almost never even needing to wear one can’t he please just finish this piece, Pike firmly says that he shouldn’t be complaining for that very reason. He moans some more, but concedes Pike’s point. 

He goes home. Home is just another thing he owes to Pike, and it all feels heavy today, heavier than usual. It’s nearby the shop, so near that he can see the ocean from his living room window. His place is small, sure, but it is an entire house, a house that he rents for next to nothing from Pike. Would have been nothing at all too, if Jim hadn’t refused to let Pike give it to him for free. Would have also been more than Pike haggled him down to if the rest of the town that rented from the insufferable kind rich boy hadn’t confirmed that yes, their prices really were equally low. 

He puts on the tea kettle, because it’s too late for someone who’s been bullied into being sensible to drink coffee, and because he thinks he might get up early again to walk with Nyota in the morning too to be drinking coffee, and browses his shelves for something to read, but nothing quite seems right. He almost goes out to find another book, but he feels deeply exhausted. 

He brings out his journal and does a few pages of writing. He answers some texts (“did you know Spock is a secret agent?” really makes him smile, and he gets it soon after he’s home; Pike really does work fast) and then he falls asleep on his couch in a giant blanket nest, a show on in the background and the mindless game he’d been playing all evening asking him if he’s still there blinking on his phone before it gives up and goes dark.


	6. Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock keeps going back to Jim's shop.

Spock, as all who know him are aware, places logic above almost all else. Amanda views this as a flaw; Sarek views it as an asset. It is only natural for them to have these views, and only natural, Amanda says, for Spock to be conflicted, but he has always preferred logic, because it has always been logic that Spock preferred. 

This is why it is so perplexing that Spock pushes aside logic and seeks instead the impression of logic. This is not him. It has never been him. And yet he rises early in the morning, grabs his equipment, and walks to Blow Me only two days after his first visit.

An older man opens the door this time. Not Jim. He’s perhaps a decade older than Spock, and his aura is a beautiful gold with swirls of rich brown. It is not as beautiful as Jim’s, but Spock appreciates it all the same, and returns a careful nod when the man flashes a smile at him.

“Spock, right?” 

Spock touches the edge of his cap, suddenly self-conscious. What had given him away?

The man just opens the door wider, his smile growing. “You might as well not wear that, kid. Everybody knows everybody in this town.” His aura curls toward Spock, mischievous. “If you aren’t one of us, you’re obviously the visitor.” 

“I often am,” Spock says softly. He steps into the store, carefully avoiding the man’s still moving aura, and walks toward the glassware. “This is all Jim’s?” 

“Most of it, yeah.” The man sweeps his free arm toward the opposite side of the store as he closes the door. “That’s all mine.”  
Spock moves closer to it. It’s beautiful, certainly, but obviously the work of a human. The entwining of auras is clumsy and amateurish. If it was made by a vulcan, it would be by a vulcan child. Behind him, the man starts laughing.

“It’s not as good as Jim’s, I know.” 

“It would hard to be better,” says Spock carefully, and the man laughs again. It is puzzling. Nothing that Spock says is amusing--it could be considered offensive, even, but the man seems to be entirely entertained. 

“Yeah, you’re right. He passed me in quality a long time ago.” He pauses to consider his next words, a smaller smile at his lips. “Are you looking for him?” 

“Well--” 

“He’s just in the back. I could get him?” 

Spock doesn’t want to admit that he’s here for Jim. He wants a more logical reason. He needs to keep up this fractured facade. “I was actually here for tea,” he tries at last, and is rather pleased with the outcome: the tea was delicious. He enjoyed it. He would likely not be able to find anything like it without further inconveniencing himself. 

But the man just presses his lips together. His aura flares with more amusement. “Well, Jim makes the tea anyway,” he says, “So I better get him still. Pike, by the way. Christopher Pike.” 

“A pleasure, Christopher,” Spock replies, and finds his seat by the window.

A couple minutes pass before Jim comes out from the back room without Christopher, an alarmingly large kettle in two mitt-protected hands. “Hey!” he says, a little too loudly. “Hey Spock!” 

Spock stands and dips his head down. “Hello, Jim.” 

“What’s, uh. What’s up?” He puts the kettle on the table and pulls off the mitts, tucking them into the large apron pocket at his waist. “I didn’t think you’d, uh. Be back?” 

“I was under the impression there was no other place to get tea,” says Spock, gesturing to the kettle, and Jim’s expression and aura crumple simultaneously. The blue of his aura nearly consumes the gold.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” 

Spock sinks into his seat again, reaching into his pack to retrieve his monitor. He sets this on the table next to the kettle so it’s right in his view. The display that flashes onto the screen only shows water, unfortunately, and Spock moves his gaze back to Jim. “How long have you lived in Far Water?” 

Jim, who’s apparently absorbed in pouring them both a cup of tea, startles when Spock addresses him. “Who, me?” 

Spock tilts his head. “There is nobody else for me to address, Jim.” 

“Right.” His aura flushes with embarrassment, but at least it does not have the sad, shameful hue it had a few moments before. “Uh. I don’t know, a couple of years?” He finishes this sentence with a significant amount of unease, like he thinks Spock is about to go prying into Jim’s life without cause. 

“You know the town well, then.” 

Jim puts the kettle down and his shoulders relax as he passes Spock one of the cups. They are either vulcan-made or Jim-made, judging by the intricacy of the woven glass. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I know everybody, probably. And everybody knows me.” He punctuates with a huff, amused (as all humans are, Spock is beginning to gather) by something Spock does not understand. 

“These cups are beautiful,” Spock tells him, then continues the conversation on the previous tangent: “Do you know the beach well?” 

“Do I know the beach well,” Jim repeats, and laughs loudly. “Yeah, I’d say.” 

Spock isn’t sure if this level of response was necessary. “Hikaru Sulu mentioned a spot on the beach with easy access to the water. It’s a northern rocky beach.” 

“I know it,” Jim says, and nods for Spock to continue.

“Do you know any other beaches with similar characteristics?” 

Jim sips at his tea for a long moment, eyebrows drawn together. “With what, access to the water?” 

“Yes. It must also be isolated from the general public, as well. Any human involvement would disrupt the case.” 

The corner of Jim’s mouth twitches. “And a vulcan wouldn’t, huh?” There is no hostile edge to his tone, nor does his aura betray any sort of hostility. 

“No. A vulcan would not.” 

“Yeah? Why is that?” 

Spock covers his hesitation with a sip of his own tea; it is not the same as it was the last time he sat at this table; it is darker. Richer. Telling Jim was not necessarily against any written rules--conversing with any human was not against any written rule, really. Rather, the rule that vulcans not share anything with humans was entirely unspoken; everyone assumed everyone would adhere to it.

“Spock?” 

“I cannot indulge that information to you, Jim.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

Spock finishes his cup and moves to get more. “The beach, Jim.” 

“The one Sulu told you about is just about the best one. Far Water’s basically the beach equivalent of a valley, so outside of town is just, like. Cliff access to the water.”

“I see.” On the monitor, a school of fish swims by the camera, one bumping its snout curiously against the lense. 

“What, uh. What are you watching?” 

Spock rotates the screen toward the opposite end of the table and Jim peers at it. “I am attempting to determine if there are any mysterious circumstances surrounding the low population of fish in your area.” 

Jim pushes the screen back toward Spock. “Did you find anything?” 

“Not yet. I plan on testing the chemical qualities of the water today.” He pauses, swirling the tea around in his cup, watching the aura of the leaves mix and crash together. “You could come with me, if you like.” 

“Really?”

Spock is not looking at Jim’s face, but his glow is large enough that it crawls across the table, and it flashes when Jim speaks.

“Vulcans do not lie, Jim.” 

Curiosity mixes with joy. Spock has revealed too much. He looks up, horrified, but Jim doesn’t seem to be dwelling on his slip-up.

“Awesome! I’ll go talk to Pike and see if I’m free! Have you eaten yet?” 

“I have not.” 

“We can stop somewhere, then!” 

“I am not particularly hungry,” Spock tries, but Jim’s already shooting up and tugging off his apron.

“Oh, shut up. We’re going to get some pastries from Bones and then we can go to the beach. It’ll be fun. What should I wear?” 

“Wear whatever you like. I assume you are not going in the water.” 

“What? I’m totally going in the water.” 

“It is cold. You have a wetsuit?” 

“Nope. But if you live here, you start to enjoy the cold.” Jim tosses the apron to the desk and then walks toward it, twisting around to grin at Spock. “Apparently it’s warmer closer to the equator? Can you even imagine?” 

“Yes,” Spock says. “I have been in many oceans.” 

“Was it better than cold water?” 

“Easier, certainly.” 

Jim stops moving. His aura is so big it almost fills the entire store, and Spock is rather intimidated by it. “That isn’t what I asked, is it?” 

“No, it is not.” 

“Do you like the cold ocean better?”  
“I am...not sure.” Spock almost wants to like the cold ocean better, just so he can please this extraordinary boy in front of him. “Perhaps.” 

“You should think about it. It’s a good thing to know about yourself.” And then he disappears into the back room, and Spock pours himself another cup of tea.

As Jim insisted, they walk to the bakery first. Jim opens the door for Spock and moves in after him, and Spock stands rather awkwardly to the side as Jim coos over the things within the glass display until Leonard walks up to the counter. 

“Jim. Uh.” He glares over at Spock.

“Spock,” Spock supplies.

“Yeah, I know. My memory isn’t that bad. What can I do for you?” 

“Breakfast,” Jim announces, and slaps the counter twice.

“Breakfast.” Leonard repeats the word with an almost impressive amount of disdain.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Bones. What do you got?” 

“What you see is what I got.” 

Jim coos over the display for a minute more, and Spock aches to inch closer to the exit. “Okay, okay, I got it. Two chocolate croissants. The chocolatiest ones.” 

“Jim,” says Spock suddenly, surging toward him. “That is not wise.” 

“What, vulcans don’t have chocolate for breakfast?” 

Spock cannot both deny Jim his breakfast with logic and keep vulcan secrets. He is, not for the first time, at an impasse.

“Spock?” 

“I…” He looks between Leonard and Jim, his anxiety increasing, his aura spinning out of control.

“Uh, okay. You alright with a poppyseed muffin? It’s got lemon.” 

The anxiety eases. His aura calms. “That is fine. Thank you.” 

Leonard’s mouth twists. “So two muffins or one muffin and one croissant?” 

“One of each,” Jim says, “Thanks.” 

“I can pay.” Spock reaches into his back pocket, but Jim and Leonard both stare at him.

“Jim doesn’t pay,” Leonard tells him. “He never does. I can charge you, but--”

“Bones,” Jim laughs, and swats at him. “Just give us the goods.” 

Leonard packs both pastries into a paper bag and passes it over the counter. “What are you two up to today?” 

“I’m going over with Spock to the beach to watch him work.” 

“Oh?” One of Leonard’s eyebrows raises. Spock does not understand the connotations of this movement, but his aura--soft blue and white and black and a hint of gold--is curling around Jim and Spock’s legs. “Is that so.” 

Jim and his aura flush with embarrassment. “Yeah. Bye, Bones.” He grabs Spock by the arm, now, and tugs him out of the bakery with a newfound urgency. Spock shakes out of Jim’s grip. “Sorry.” 

Spock does not answer, opting instead for a serene silence as they walk (hurriedly, Spock notices) toward the beach. Jim’s essence is pulsating. “Jim,” he says at last, “These things you have learned about me. You cannot share them with anyone?” 

“Things?” Alarmed, Jim makes a face at Spock. “What things?” 

“The fact that vulcans do not lie, and that I cannot eat chocolate. You cannot share these things.” 

“Uh, yeah. I wasn’t going to.” 

“Most humans would. There is value in information about vulcans. There is money.” 

Jim shrugs. “I don’t care about money.” 

“Don’t all humans care about money?”

“A lot of them do, but not all. That’s like saying all vulcans are, I don’t know. Exactly like you.” He blushes as he says this, and Spock tilts his head.

“There are no vulcans like me.” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” His voice softens. He looks over at Spock and his entire being is that soft, soft gold, and Spock wants to drown in it. “You’ve been going this way? Along the path?” 

Spock shakes himself out of his distraction and tries to focus on the new topic of conversation. “Yes. It is, I found, convenient.” 

“There’s a shortcut. You wanna take it?” 

“Yes, fine.” 

Spock follows Jim in silence for the rest of the journey, and it is only when they’re standing on the beach does Jim laugh out loud, throwing his arms out, almost hitting Spock in the chest. 

“Fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck I love the beach!” 

Spock dodges his arms and the aura that pours out over the rocks and drops down to one knee, pulling at the zipper of his backpack. Jim exists so loudly, so beautifully. Spock has never known someone like him. He wants to drink it in for as long as possible. 

“God,” says Jim, quieter this time. “Jesus. I used to be landlocked, you know? That was horrible.” 

Spock wonders what Jim was like before coming here--if he’s only been in Far Water for a few years, he lived for over a decade and a half somewhere else. But he cannot ask questions, because it would not be fair of him to ask questions and refuse to answer Jim’s questions in return. He concentrates on changing instead, stripping off his shirt and folding it carefully, then his pants, folded just as carefully. He unravels the wetsuits and, as he stands to slip into it, he glances over at Jim. He’s standing still, watching Spock with an open mouth, and when Spock makes eye contact, he flushes a bright, bright red and his aura shrinks into itself.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, fitting the wetsuit over each leg. Jim blinks at him a few times and then looks away. “Jim?”

“Uh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to look at you.” 

He didn’t mean to look at him? What did that mean? Spock finishes fitting the wetsuit over his legs and then ties the arms at his waist so they’ll be out of the way as he gets out the rest of his equipment. “Jim, if there’s a problem--” 

“No, there isn’t a p-p-pro-problem.” He rubs at the back of his neck and stares determinedly at the water. “No problem at all. Sorry I looked.” 

“Is...looking at things problematic?” 

“Uh, yeah? Since you’re not, like. Dressed?” 

Spock thinks about this for a moment. “Humans are...embarrassed by one removing their clothing.” 

“Uh. Yeah?” 

“Interesting.” He makes a mental note of this, then gestures to his chest. “Does this bother you?” 

Jim’s eyes roll toward him and the blush, somehow, gets deeper. “Uh.” he rubs at his own chest and his mouth tightens. Oh. It does bother him, then. A little self-conscious, Spock puts on the rest of the wetsuit. “My apologies. I will try not to expose myself again.” 

Jim’s aura is so small and embarrassed. Spock has never felt more regretful.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and moves toward the water with his equipment.

“You have to, uh. Go under the water to take a sample?” 

“I’ll take water on the surface, too, but it’s affected too much by surface plants. The sample will be more true to my purposes.”

“I don’t know much about marine biology,” Jim admits, and walks a little closer to Spock. His aura is improving, but not by much.

“Neither do I.” 

Jim laughs. He sounds surprised. “What? I thought you said vulcans can’t lie.”

“They cannot. Not knowing much is relative.” Spock flashes a contemptuous look back at Jim before fitting his goggles over his eyes and diving into the water.  


He stays under the water for a couple long minutes, checking on the camera, gathering a few samples from different depths, and giving a couple of the fish a friendly touch on the head. It is enormously calm in the water, and Spock savors the cool feeling against his skin. Does he like the cold water better? He does not know. He has never really thought about it. He has never had any reason to think about it. He thinks, maybe, that he does, but perhaps that is just a product of his desire to please the boy.  


When he resurfaces, Jim’s sitting on the rocks, staring out at the ocean. Spock cannot tell what exactly he is watching--the waves? The sun creeping across the sky? Or he might be looking at the reflection of the light on the water, the way it catches both the gray-blue of the sky and the golden light of the sun.

Golden. Spock shakes his head and compares Jim’s aura to the sunlight. How are they so similar? Does Jim enjoy this because, somehow, he knows it is the very essence of his aura?

Nonsense. Jim shouldn’t have any idea what his aura is like. He is human. He may have supernatural abilities in crafting glassware, but he is nevertheless still human.

Spock crawls out of the water and puts away his samples before he starts unzipping his suit.

Wait.

He steals a look at Jim, who’s still watching the ocean. He seems too distracted to notice what Spock is doing, so he finishes unzipping the suit the rest of the way and peels it off his legs, then stretches out across the rocks again to let the air dry his skin and hair. He tries to find what Jim is watching out across the water. Are there any boats? No. The sun? It reflects across the water, just as it should. There is nothing particularly spectacular about it. There is nothing particularly spectacular about any of this.

And yet.

If everything is combined--if he looks at the water and the flickering light and the gray clouds and the lapping waves and the sun and the salty air and Jim sitting next to him, breathing it all in, he thinks that he might understand.

 

The third time he visits Jim, he says that he is getting a present for his family. They sit together at their table and Jim serves black tea with sugar in a small dish to the side (“if you want any,” Jim says, but doesn’t move to grab it either) and Spock watches the monitor and tries to keep up a conversation. Jim reaches out to touch Spock’s arm a couple times and blushes each time, and Spock tries not to take this as romantic pursuit.

The fourth time he visits Jim, he purchases three vividly green glasses and tells Jim that two of them are for his father, and the other is for Spock’s personal use. Jim grins at him. “Does that mean you’ll bring it over every time you want tea? Because it’s pretty thin for tea.”  
Spock hesitates. “I was thinking more along the lines of water,” he says, and Jim snorts. Spock does not know why this is funny, and tries to concentrate more fully on watching the monitor.

The fifth time he visits Jim, he says that he needs a spiraled red decorative sculpture to “spice up” his hotel room. Jim falls on the floor laughing, and it takes Spock several minutes to get Jim up again and make them a kettle of jasmine tea. He sets up the monitor between them so Jim can watch and provides all the names of the fish that swim by the camera. Jim starts giggling when some of the fish run into the lense, and Spock hides the smile that reflexively follows this sound.

The sixth time he visits Jim, they go back to the beach together. Jim brings the tea and they sit together on the rocks. Spock watches the monitor, but he doesn’t go into the water. Neither of them say anything. The ocean is beautiful, but it is so much more beautiful with Jim’s aura changing to match the colors of the sky--and change they do, especially when the sun reaches the edge of the horizon and the sky turns red and blue and purple and pink and beautiful, and even when the sky gets dark; yes, Jim’s aura matches even that by turning dark and rich with flashes of bright, shining hope.

Spock is getting sentimental. When they finally return to Blow Me (Christopher raises an eyebrow and his essence twists around their legs and between their arms, lingering especially where Jim clings to Spock’s arm), Spock tells Jim that he came to buy some wind chimes, and avoids both Christopher and Jim’s eyes as he passes over the money, and he leaves.

The seventh time he visits Jim, he buys five more of the vividly green glasses, as well as one blue one, and then sits with Jim at the table with an overly-full mug of chai. It’s spiced just right, and he inhales the aroma as he sifts through the results of all of his tests. 

“Hey, uh.” Jim swallows down a large gulp of chai and makes a few rasping noises, as it is probably too hot for him to drink so much. “Spock?” 

“Yes, Jim.” Spock flips past another paper and tries to analyze a bar graph, but Jim’s aura keeps getting in the way, and he flicks at it without any real irritability.

“You live on Vulcan, right?” 

“I do, Jim.” 

“Is it pretty there?” 

Spock looks up at him, arching his eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t make that face at me. You telling me whether or not Vulcan is pretty isn’t going to help me find it, for fuck’s sake.” 

Spock rubs at his nose to cover his smile. “Yes, Vulcan is quite beautiful.” 

“Do you miss it?” 

“I do.” 

Jim plants his chin on his hands and smiles so softly. “Spock?” 

“Yes, Jim.” 

“Why do you do this marine biology stuff? I mean. Everybody knows that vulcans are secretive and they stay on Vulcan so they can further science, but why did you leave?” 

Spock pretends to ponder another chart.

“Spock?” 

“I do not belong on Vulcan, Jim. I found my calling in marine biology, as you have found your calling here in Far Water with blown glass.”

“You’re happy, then?” 

Spock sighs and looks over at the boy, suddenly exhausted. “No, Jim. But I am not unhappy, either. It is not within my capacity to feel such extremes.” He’s done this before--he’s revealed far too much about Vulcans and broken far too many rules, but so far Jim has shared nothing with anybody else, so Spock just keeps going, because Jim’s aura seems to get a little brighter every time Spock shares something about himself.

“It isn’t within your capacity to feel such extremes? Or is it that you think you can’t feel anything at all?” There’s something in Jim’s face--contempt? That does not seem like Jim. Perhaps it is only confidence, like Jim thinks he knows something about Spock that Spock does not. But as he moves to answer, something catches his eye on the monitor. Something huge. It fills the screen--it is a behemoth of an animal, with large teeth that extend far past its furry face. He shoots upward, and Jim flinches. “What? Is it something I said?” 

Spock seizes the monitor and the rest of his equipment, tucking the folder he was just reviewing under his arm. “Excuse me,” he says, and as he pushes through Blow Me’s door, he calls “My apologies, Jim!” over his shoulder. 

He races to the beach, arms pumping at his sides. He imagines he is losing much information, but he has copies of everything, and isn’t nearly as concerned at the loss of data as he is finding the beast he just saw on screen.

He dives into the water without getting properly dressed or putting on the equipment. For a moment, he swims frantically, pawing at the water, desperately trying to get to the vast expanse of ocean his camera has been monitoring. A dozen feet in front of the lense, he spins around, scanning his surroundings.

Nothing but a couple schools of fish. Whatever Spock saw is long gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can take you on a light walk,” Pike says and Bones gives him a little glare. 
> 
> “A light walk, Jim, light. Chris, I don’t think this kid knows what light anything is. Light whipped cream, light angst, light porn-”
> 
> “Hey! That was one time!” Being walked in on while your watching porn is not anyone's favorite situation.Even Jim couldn’t turn that into anything other than painful and awkward. Bones’s shout of “hey Jim what are you OH DEAR GOD IN HELL” will stay with him until the end of time. 
> 
> “The point is, he can’t do anything lightly.”

Chapter Seven: Interlude (In Which Jim Gets Something Off His Chest)

When he’s woken up from surgery the first words out of Jim’s mouth are, “Wow I sure am glad I got that off my chest” and Leonard McCoy gets up and leaves the room. Pike is sitting on the other side and he looks up from his book and watches Bones stride quickly out of the room, a small smile on his face. 

“Original,” Pike says. 

“Oh come on, did you do any better?” 

“I made the same exact joke, actually. It’s a classic.” 

“And the truth comes out. You can’t fool me old man.” 

“Why you insist on calling people as little as eight years older than you old man will never make sense to me, kid.” Jim sticks out his tongue as a nurse arrives in his room. 

“Oh good you’re awake,” he says, “Mr. McCoy here said you were back to your usual, annoying self.” 

“Ah hell, you couldn’t have kept that just between the two of us, Marty?” Bones says, giving Marty what Jim is both shocked and pleased to read as heart eyes. 

“You aren’t my patient, there’s no doctor-patient confidentiality.” 

“I could certainly change that if it would help.” Jim catches Pike’s eye, mouthing a wow that just increases the smile on Pike’s face. 

“Um, hello? Just got out of surgery here.” Jim wants to wave his arms but he was under strict orders when he went under to not move upon his waking. He’s been awake for a few moments at most and he’s already going to stir crazy. 

Nurse Marty checks him over and goes over a few things, and when he leaves Jim drifts back to sleep. He is so tired. 

~

When he wakes a few hours later, no one is sitting by his bed. He almost minds, his thoughts still aren’t his favorite place to be, but he feels giddy the next second when he remembers why he’s in the hospital bed. A note tells him to call when he’s awake, but he doesn’t press for assistance. There’s a soft song playing, a kind of melody you’d expect from the tranquil sort of place hospitals have evolved into. 

His mind drifts almost immediately to Spock. He doesn’t (can't?) eat chocolate, he considers this and all other small pieces of information Jim has gotten too much information. He can’t feel extremes. Jim frowns at this one. It just doesn’t feel right. Emotion has been all Jim Kirk has lived on for his life, feelings bringing him here, feeling creating his art. Feeling creating life. What is there if there is no feeling? 

And moreover, Spock had not seemed like the emotionless being he claimed to be. Though, Jim supposes, he did not claim to be emotionless, only not to feel in such extremes. Jim could get behind that. He had tried, several times, to get into meditation but he could never calm his brain enough. The calmest Jim Kirk’s brain got was when it was focused on a puzzle, a problem, so he had become more of captain of the chess team, joined the biology and environmental club, and signed up for AP classes. He barely had time to breath with all the studying he did. Now, he had almost too much time to breath. Without the routine and pressure of school, he didn’t do as much as he should. That was probably why he spent so much time in the shop come to think of it.

Spock found his calling in marine biology, and he leaves vulcan even though most (all?) other vulcans don’t. Spock doesn’t think he knows much because “knowledge is relative.”   
Jim feels himself blush red when he thinks of Spock’s comfortability with himself. Himself and his flat, flat, unscared chest. His strong, lean body. Jim shifts uncomfortably, his chest clenching with feelings he does not want to have. 

He slams the assistance button. 

 

The four days Jim spends at the hospital are tedious and groggy and changing his drains is a truly disgusting experience that makes him infinitely glad that Bones grumpily but in a no argument kind of way volunteered to help him with them. 

Truth be told, Jim kind of misses Spock too. There’s no reason to believe that he will see him soon, he’s off of work for the next two weeks of August, all the way until the twenty first, and he can’t imagine he could find anything to get Spock to visit him. He can’t make him tea, he can’t go out with Spock on his escapades, or sell him any art. Jim hates when he can’t do things. 

The ride home is long, and he has to lay back on the seat on a cushion Bones had brought along. 

The ride home is long. He drifts in and out of consciousness. 

 

In one of his dreams, Spock is there. He doesn’t recognize the landscape they are in, but Spock gestures to him to come closer. He does as Spock says. They are sitting on top of a great valley, reds and browns stretching out further than Jim’s eyes can see. 

Spock doesn’t say anything, he just watches the great canyon before them, face blank and yet somehow serene. Jim sit absolutely still beside him, for once able to do absolutely nothing at all. And then Bone’s is shaking him gently awake. 

“Jim, hey, we’re here.” 

“What was the consensus on how much I can walk again? The air smells amazing,” Jim slowly lifts himself out of the seat with a little help from Bones. He could do it by himself, but he’s not supposed to move his arms very much. Less movement, less pain, less scarring. Although, scars are kind of amazingly badass so. 

“We can take you on a light walk,” Pike says and Bones gives him a little glare. 

“A light walk, Jim, light. Chris, I don’t think this kid knows what light anything is. Light whipped cream, light angst, light porn-”

“Hey! That was one time!” Being walked in on while your watching porn is not anyone's favorite situation.Even Jim couldn’t turn that into anything other than painful and awkward. Bones’s shout of “hey Jim what are you OH DEAR GOD IN HELL” will stay with him until the end of time. 

“The point is, he can’t do anything lightly.” 

“Light vegetables?” Jim tries, giving Bones his best puppy dog look. 

“Oh christ's sake. I’m getting jojo just, don’t go farther than the pier, you have to walk back too.” He turns and stalks off. 

“How does he make literally any action look grumpy? Except for when he’s with Joanna, I guess,” Jim smiles, staring after his friend for a second, “he’s a good dad,” he adds softly, reverently. Pike smiles even though Jim can’t see him. It’s a soft moment, but full of melancholy too. Jim Kirk didn’t have the honor of having a soft dad. 

“Do you want kids, Jim?” Jim looks up, alarm all over his face. 

“I guess I…” 

“Never thought that far ahead?” Jim looks down at his feet. 

“Yeah, not really. I don’t know though. Joanna’s awesome but.” He shrugs a little, even though he maybe shouldn’t and Pike leaves it alone, continuing in silence as they walk from where Bone’s had parked near Blow Me. Most of the people who live around Blow Me also park in the lot there, Far Water isn’t big on roads that are drivable unless they have to be, so more than the main three roads aren’t usually used or kept up very well. Sometimes it’s the most freeing feeling in the world, and sometimes it feels like a trap. 

They got back just around sunset. This is one of Jim’s favorite times of day, when the world has more colors and dim lighting. It’s like if the outside world put on fairy lights instead of the overhead light in its bedroom. Jim’s not sure how he got lucky enough to end up in Far Water, with these people, and that’s what he is thinking about in the silence in between them. 

He had walked for so long. Seventeen, with a finger on a map that pointed him to Northern oregon. The bus driver had snorted at him when he asked about Far Water. It wasn’t the most popular place, and his bus sure as hell wasn’t going to take Jim near it. This town would do just fine, for whatever Jim was up to? What was Jim up to, anyway? He had hastily made the excuse of tracking down a long lost relative for a school project. The bus driver had eyes his bag and the look on his face and snorted, muttered an “and I’m a world class ballerina dancer” and handed Jim a map that was more detailed than his own. Jim had hesitated for about three seconds, then hopped off the bus. 

They arrive on the pier, and Jim makes his soar way all the way to the end of it, glad there’s benches to sit on. The shoreline of Far Water goes along about two miles to his left, and then it keeps going but on the other side of mostly trees. On that other side, it get’s much rocker than it is here. One of the first things that Pike had said to Jim was that he ended up in the best kept secret of the Oregon coast. Sure they got their tourism, mostly courtesy of Pike’s shop, of curious photographers, but the town usually just ahd the town. 

Sam would love it here. It’s a painful thought, kind of like being stabbed, if Jim’s honest, but if anyone had ever rivaled Jim in hatred for George and Iowa, it was definitely Sam. Jim had found pieces that he could make something of. Always exploring the woods, befriending the animals. Sam had been different, taking the bus into the city at every possible opportunity until one day he hadn’t come back. 

He’d been smart too, taken it in the opposite direction he usually did, putting on a disguise that no one was ever really sure was Sam Kirk, except for Jim. But JIm shrugged when the police asked “could be, I guess. Can I go now?” he’d asked every time. Sam hadn’t taken him, and Jim was bitter beyond reason about that, but that was no reason to sell out the only person who had cared about him. 

Sam had always dreamed of not being landlocked. When they asked him, Jim said that Sam liked big open fields, places where you could find rows and rows of corn. Any descriptor that could be midwest. He said that Sam had probably just left because he wanted independence. George had given JIm a proud look, and Jim had hoped that his dad would just die. He wasn’t doing this for George, he was doing this for Sam. 

Ths would have been Sam’s dream. He’d always been thirsty for science, especially geology and biology. Maybe winona had finally found Sam. Maybe if he just… bought that ticket. He’s twenty years old now, they can’t keep him. Pike would probably go with Jim, if he asked. 

He looks over at Pike. Jim’s never known someone who looked so peaceful in his life. He can just be better than anyone else. Jim has that ever constant itch to do something. Just do anything. Pike, he can sit at the counter of Blow Me and look out at the distant waves, not get a customer all day, but still have a smile one his face. Jim will have blown through fifty advanced sudokus, a book, and a dozen rough drafts of new pieces in that time. 

“Do you think they looked for me?” Jim blurts out. He hadn’t even realized he was going to ask until the words left him. 

“They did.” 

“They did?” Pike had said it was so much certainty. There is definitely a story there. 

“Yes. I kept a watch on your hometown, the whole first year you were here. Several reporters implied that it was George’s fault. Some speculated you had found Sam.” 

“You know about Sam.” Jim never talks about Sam. Sam is more complicated than Winona or George. He’d offered that it would be unsafe for him to go back home, that all tha twas there was his asshole father. Pike had quickly agreed to do the illegal but morally correct thing. The only person Jim has ever talked to about Sam with was Bones, and even that wasn’t much. It had been an accident, a slip of the tongue when he remembered something Sam had once done and it had come tumbling out of his mouth easily. He supposes that’s how normal people who don’t want to keep as much of themselves under lock and key operate. He’d become even more careful after that. 

It’s not even that Jim wants to be locked up either. He’s just been locked up for so long, he doesn’t know what else to be. Sure, it seems like he can trust these people, and with this information it seems even more like he can, but what if he can’t? What if something about how he treated them makes Pike angry, disappointed, disgusted even? 

“I couldn’t just have no information about the kid I was letting stay in my upstairs guest room, could I?” 

“I think you could have, but I understand your perspective,” Jim says, a little grumpy. 

“I was never going to make you go back. I think it might be good for you, now, though, to at least contact them.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re stuck in the past and you never let yourself breath because of it.” 

“Wow, okay, I just get back from surgery and suddenly it’s deal with another one for my shitty problems time?” Pike has sad eyes when Jim looks over at him for his reaction to that. 

“Is it?” 

“What?” 

“Being trans. Is it still a shitty problem to you?”Jim looks down at his chest. It has one of those post surgery binders one, so it looks only a little less than his usually binded chest. He thinks about George, in his old horrible mindset. He thinks about Bones, who nodded when Jim said that his name was Jim, who called Pike right away for reasons that he didn’t get until a few days in, when Pike said that he would help Jim get on t too when he was eighteen, and did he want to see Pike do his shot? 

“I guess not.” 

“You’re an artist, Jim.” 

“‘I mean, yeah, I guess? What does that have to do with anything.” 

“We take sand,” Pike lifts some up that was chilling on the bench they’re on, “and we make it into something beautiful. We bend it, twist it, whatever it takes.” 

“Am I the sand, really Pike? We are sand? That’s what you’re going with?” Pike chuckles a little bit. 

“Okay, kind of a shitty metaphor. But it’s true. People have always done this in one manner or another, tattoos, piercings, hell even the clothes we wear or the way we stand. It’s all just our way of shaping the piece of art that we are. I’ve always felt like being trans was like that, but on a whole new, better level.” 

“Better?” 

“Cultivating who you are, who you project to the outside world. You’ve made pieces that have taken you weeks to complete, months too i believe, but they’re always worth it, often the most beautiful pieces you’ve made. Being alive is much the same way, especially for us.” 

“Poetic.” His tone is sarcastic, but it made him feel something about this too. Jim knows mostly, trans people are more like Pike now and less like Jim. Nyota is one such example. Chekov too. Jim is the only one who sits there and struggles with it. 

“You’ll get there,”’ Pike adds, voice soft, and Jim, who had looked away, was clutching his hands into fists, relaxes them. It wasn’t a criticism. It was meant to be inspiring. Let it be inspiring. 

“I’ll get there,” Jim repeats and nods to himself. 

“Get where? To bed? Because you should be in bed.” Bones’s timing is so excellent, Jim wonders if he had been standing back, watching the conversation unfold with Joanna before stepping forward. 

Joanna convinces her dad to let them finish the sunset before they walk Jim back to his house. 

 

“I thought I told you I didn’t need anyone to stay overnight with me? Bones, I’m fine.” 

“Really? That’s your first words to me? Me? Who has brought you breakfast in your little recovery chair?” 

“I didn’t ask for this,” Jim says grumpily. He’s just woken up to the smell of breakfast, and on one of his couches Joanna McCoy is asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed animal (a build a bear wearing wonder woman armor) and Leonard McCoy has taken over his kitchen. It is a very pleasant look, and he hates it, because it is nine thirty in the morning, and he has to take a whole other week off of work so he had really hoped to sleep through most of it. 

“Well, I made your favorite, you ungrateful bastard.” 

“Bones! Your daughter is present!” 

“She’s sleeping,” Bones says, but he casts a nervous glance at his daughter anyway. 

“Wrong ya bastard!” Jim has honestly never seen a more shocked look on someone's face before than when Joanna McCoy pops up from sleeping with that one. He’s also not sure he’s ever felt so proud of someone else in his life. 

“There’s no one someone with that good a sense of humor is related to you, have you got a blood test done?” 

“Hey! He is my dad,” Joanna says, hopping off her couch to come stand defensively by her dad. Bones’s face chances to one so pleased it kind of makes Jim want to cry.   
“I’m just teasing Jo Jo,” Jim says as Bone’s put the eating tray over his lap, “really? A tray? Did the cute doctor give it to you, Leonard?” the use of Bones’s given name is almost always exclusive to teasing. 

“As a matter of fact, he did, you nosy bastard.” Jim grins and begins tearing into his crepes. 

“Did you get his number?” 

“No, I did not.” 

“Oooh, using the power of flirt for free medical supplies. That’s cold, Bones, even for you,” Jim says through a mouthful of sausage. 

“Please tell me you got him stool softeners, oh my god,” Nyota Uhura has made her beautiful way to Jim’s house and as always graced it with only the most dignified of subjects ei Jim Kirk’s inevitable shitting. 

“Don’t you work, like everyday? Why are you here?”

“Nice to see you, Jim, I am glad to be here and I am doing well, thank you for asking,” Nyota says, but she’s grinning because this is how they are. 

“Nota!” Joanna yells, running the very short distance between them to slam into Nyota’s legs. Joanna started calling Nyota Nota when she was too little to say it all, but now it’s her own special made nickname for her. 

“She’s here because I thought you might do better in some company,” Bones says, gruff tone but unable to disguise the care despite his best efforts. Nyota make her way to the couch that Joanna had been sleeping on and sits down, a Joanna still firmly attached to her side. Nyota rivals Jim in Joanna’s affection. 

“Did you.. Get me a babysitter?” 

“Wow, okay, I think I have demonstrated my irresponsibility a little too well for such an accusation,” Nyota says right as Bones says “maybe,” with a sneaky look on his face. 

“Hey!” Nyota and Jim shout at the same time, real offense coloring their voices, a rarity when the two of them are together. 

“Oh relax, i’m kidding. Come on Jo Jo, Nyota, there’s more breakfast in the kitchen, Jim, I made enough food for a week, but you’re welcome to make your own shit.” 

“Aw he does care,” Jim fake whispers to Nyota as Bones makes his grumpy way out, stuffing some of joanna’s toys in his pockets and then scooping her up from Nyotas side.

“He’s a real sweetheart,” Nyota fake croons. The door closes shut rather forcefully after them, but not fast enough to miss the fit of laughter they dissolve into. 

 

“Hey Bones, I am going to murder you and adopt Joanna,” Jim says into the phone. He’s sitting on his toilet, away from the gathering in his front room. Tomorrow is the day that he gets to see his chest completely unbandaged, no more drains left, but there has been a constant companion by Jim’s side for the past week and a half and he’s just a little tired of it. 

“What? Jim, it’s Sulu and Chekov. You love them. One time you got drunk and blabbered about which of them you would rather have on a deserted island with you and then you started crying because that would mean we were all separated.” 

“The older people in this community's inability to hide alcohol well wasn’t exactly the subject of my call, Bones.” He hears Bones sigh on the other end of the line. 

“Look, I know it feels like you’re being babied. But you’re so used to having work, and going out all the time, we just thought if someone hung out with you every day it would be better. They let you shit by yourself don’t they?” 

“Bones.” 

“No more after tomorrow! I swear, after the party-”

“What party?!” 

“Crap.” 

 

The party turns out to be a party. Like capital p party. It’s held at Pikes house, the asshole has a house that could fit probably five of Jim’s in it, if not more. It’s beautiful, all windows and wood, fancy sculptures. 

Jim didn’t realize how long it’s been since he’s been in Pike’s house until he sees how many of Jim’s works that Pike said had been bought had really been bought by him. Everyone who has an attachment to Jim seems to be there. 

“They do know I got it off earlier today, right? They aren’t expecting some kind of reveal, or speech?” Pike shakes his head fondly at him. 

“It’s more an excuse to party than anything, don’t worry.” 

“I am pretty much worried all of the time, so that’s a no go, but I will attempt to worry somewhat less about this party.” 

“You know, I keep having the strangest interactions at work.”

“Oh god, I get to go back to work tomorrow thank fuck.”

“Are you going to be interested or not?”

“Why would I be?”

“It’s about your vulcan.” now that gets Jim out of his head. Though he wouldn’t exactly describe Spock as his vulcan, he is certainly the only one who was hanging out with him just about every day before he got surgery. He hadn’t even told Spock that he was going to be away, but how does one even have that conversation? Jim doesn’t have enough self worth to believe that it was really about Jim himself, Spock probably got someone else to come with him. 

“‘He’s not mine,” Jim mutters. 

“Okay, we can pretend he’s not. Well, the thing is, he keeps coming in, like every day since you’ve been gone, and he scrunches up his nose at my coffee, and buys a piece of art but it’s always just about the cheapest thing we have available, you know, like those little marble bags we made for the people who don’t realize we’re incredibly expensive?”

“Yeah of course, now get to your point old man.” 

“Well, I say you’re not available and he looks uncomfortable and purchases something as fast as he can and leaves. He’s definitely looking forward to you being back.” 

“The last time I saw him...” Jim trails off as a few people stumble out onto Pikes patio, already drunk and ready to find a bush to fuck in. 

“Stay away from the water!” Pike shouts as they stumble into the trees.

“Should you have hired life guards or something?”

“They’ve lived here long enough to not be idiots. Hopefully. You were saying?” 

“He left rather quickly, I don’t know, maybe he really did just want to purchase more things.” Pike gives him a thorough look and groans. 

“You are a kid idiot. Go enjoy your party.” 

 

Jim’s not technically old enough to drink, it's one of those archaic laws that just never got dealt with, but he has a white russian in his hand anyway as he sits on top of the staircase and stares down at the party. 

Jim has never really known what to do with a party. He likes dancing, loves dancing actually, and drinking games are fun enough, but he gets bored of them a little easily. Though he hasn’t had the pleasure of one in a while, a party more like that of his fourth of july days is really the kind he’s more into. 

When he was a teenager, some of his friends and him had that awkward teen combination of a sleepover and a party where you’re too low on the socialcast to hold a rager, and nerdy enough to prefer board games, but in the party enough mood to also have loud music, stolen beer, and at least one couple making out in the corner. That too, had been Jim’s speed. 

“Chekov is in a drinking contest with Scotty,” Chapel says in lieu of hello, sitting down next to him at the top of the stairs. 

“Isn’t that he like legally responsible for him?” 

“They do it different in Russia and Scotland both, apparently. Bones looked like he was going to have a heart attack.” 

“I can’t believe he’s still here. Hey, didn’t you come with Nyota?” Jim turns to look at Chapel’s face. He and her haven't had a lot of conversations, she’s pretty new to town, and Jim’s pretty busy burying himself in his job and hobbies, but he considers her a friend already nonetheless, and the fact that she chose to sit down next to him strikes him as somewhat odd. 

“I thought maybe it was a date.” 

“It’s not?” Nyota had practically smashed through Jim’s door with possible outfits earlier that day, so the likelihood that Nyota doesn’t also want it to be a date is pretty slim  
.   
“She said she was glad to be going with me, and then hastily added as friends. As friends,” Chapel repeats it twice and she looks so sad. Jim looks out over the sea of people, trying to find Nyota’s ponytail. When he doesn’t he pulls out his phone. Because Jim always has his phone on silent, he hadn’t yet known that Nyota has actually sent him fifteen texts. 

“I’m sorry, Christine, but I need to call someone back.” It doesn't seem fair to Nyota to expose her freaking out, clearly very drunk ass, so he just makes his way back into the hallway and finds his old room. He takes a moment to be shocked that it’s basically exactly how he left it before he clicks the call button. 

“Jimmy! Jimbo, jim, hey sooo I freaked out and got super drunk instead of hanging out with Christine, and now I’m,” hiccups, muffled sound of someone else voice, “hiding in an upstairs bedroom that has… a lot of dicks in it,” giggling, “oh wow, I’m tired. And I’m nauseous. Nauseated. Whatever. Also I’m really sad.” Jim has found out a lot about drinking in his life, and one of the things he’s found out about it is that there is no clear cut type of drunk most people will fall into. It still does have to do with mood, and sometimes with what you’re drinking too. 

“Nyota, are you in Pikes sexy room? He keeps that locked what the hell.”

“Oh grow up, Jim Jam Jimberly, I know how to pick a lock.” 

“Oh jesus, okay, I’m coming to get you.” 

That’s how no one sees the guest of the part or one of his best friends for the rest of the night. Honestly, Jim’s kind of glad that Nyota is just that much of a disaster. He hadn’t been in a classic party mood anyway.

 

He is a little less glad when Christine comes barrelling into his shop before it’s even technically open the next morning, accusing him of having a crush on Nyota.   
“Are you serious? I saw you two! I thought she was into me I thought! Jim, how could you?!” the implication of the words is so foreign to the truth that it takes Jim several moments to work through. He hasn’t been up this early since before he got surgery, he is only on his second cup of coffee, and his thoughts have been entirely consumed by the possibility that he might see spock today. 

“Uh,” it clicks, “oh christ. Christine. No. No, Christine, no.” 

“No? That’s all you have to say to me, Jim Kirk?” 

“What’s all?” For someone who was just as drunk as Nyota Uhura, she sure doesn’t look it. 

“You look nice, party girl.” Jim regrets the words instantly, because they seem to kind of make Chapel want to die, given the look on her face. 

“Thanks, Jim. Hey can we go somewhere and talk? In private?” Chapel doesn’t react because chapel isn't looking at Nyota and seems to be assuming that the words are for Jim. 

“Nyota isn’t talking to me, Christine,” Jim says and he can’t help the kind of smug tone to his voice. Her eyes bulge, and she turns to Nyota. Nyota has the most vulnerable, hopeful look he’s ever seen. Man, he loves love. 

The door chimes. It’s Pike. He doesn't look surprised at all that Jim beat him there. 

The door chimes ten more times through the day. None of them are Spock. 

It hangs heavy and confusing around Jim. Pike doesn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took me so long also I am not satisfied with it like, at all but! woo! it's here. I know the trans conversation in particular was.... excessively cheesy but! I felt like it was a realistic thing for them to talk about. Also, I love projecting onto Jim Kirk. Hope you liked it!


	8. Nyota, Tea, and Natural Phenomenons

“And you don’t know what it is? You’ve no idea?”

Spock sighs and drops down onto his bed, stretching his legs out so far that his feet hang off the bed. “I do not have any idea, mother. If I did, do you not feel that I would share that information with you?” 

“Are you asking me what I feel?” Amanda’s voice and face are amused. Spock sighs. “Was that irritation?” 

“Stop emphasizing your words, mother. The vernacular makes clear enough the point you are attempting to convey.”

“Ah, you’re right. I’ll let this one slide.” She trails her voice off and studies Spock, her face softening. “Spock, honey, are you eating enough?” 

Spock abruptly sits up straight and smooths his shirt. “I am eating plenty, mother.” 

“What’s going on? You look thinner. Is it the stress?” 

“I am fine, mother.” 

“You only call me mother this much when you’re trying to calm me down. I will not be calmed, Spock. Is something wrong? There are enough vegetables, right?” 

“I am only…” He could confess one of two things now: either he is frustrated about his work (true, but would admit a lack of control he does not want to admit), or that he misses Jim (which would also admit a lack of control, and Spock most definitely does not want to admit this, even to himself.)

“Only,” Amanda prompts. 

“Frustrated,” Spock says finally. “I am frustrated that I have yet to find this creature. I have set up several observational posts, but so far nothing has panned out.”

“Maybe it just doesn’t want to be found.”

“I think that much is fairly obvious.” 

Amanda laughs long and loud. Spock would likely never admit it, but he savors that laugh. It is so light and freeing. All of his fondest memories of when he was a child featured that laugh--and the aura that accompanies that laughter is probably the second most beautiful thing Spock has ever seen. He wishes he could see that aura now. “What footage do you have?”

Spock flicks at his screen and sends her the couple seconds he captured: only a blur of scales and something white and large. Amanda studies her screen for a couple long seconds.

“I can ask around, if you want?”

“I would appreciate that, mother, thank you.”

She is still studying the video, probably over and over. “I’ll also send this to a video analyzer and see if they can get anything out of it. There’s no aura?” 

“Cameras do not capture auras, mother. You know this.”

Amanda has only seen auras through Sarek, and even then she cannot fully grasp it. Just as a two-dimensional creature could never understand a three-dimensional creature, a human can never understand a vulcan. “Yes,” she says, “I know. I still can’t believe nobody has developed it. And you call yourselves intelligent. You could have developed it, you know, if you had stayed.”

Spock tilts his head.

“Not that I wish you stayed,” she adds quickly. “I’m glad you’re out there pursuing your dreams. I just know that you’re smarter than everybody here, and your insights could really help.” 

She is trying her best not to hurt Spock’s feelings. Spock is trying his best not to tell her he does not have any feelings to hurt.

“Perhaps I could see if I can assist when I visit,” he says, careful.

“Yeah, maybe.” She’s pleased with his answer. Good. “So. Tell me about your town! Have you met any interesting characters?” 

“It is not my town, mother.” 

“Oh, that’s not the point and you know it.” 

“I have met interesting people, yes.” He leans forward and adjusts his monitor on his desk so there is no longer a glare. “There are two people in a nearby blown glass shop that I visit often for their tea, as I can get it nowhere else. There is a bar and a plant and fish shop as well. What merchandise the stores do sell, if it is not food, is largely souvenier-based.”

“Get anything for me?” 

Spock thinks about all of the blown-glass objects carefully wrapped up in paper and stacked in his closet. “I may have purchased a few things.”

“Ooh! Really? What did you get me?” 

“You will have to wait until they arrive in the mail. I do not spoil surprises.”

“You sure don’t.” Her expression softens again and she reaches over to touch the screen, her long fingers probably brushing over Spock’s face like she does when they are together. “I miss you, sweetheart. When are you coming home?” 

“I will visit as soon as I am done with this assignment.” 

“And you’ll stay for longer than a couple of days like last time?” 

“I will stay for at least a week if nothing else arises. Is that sufficient?” 

Amanda lets out her breath. “I suppose it is. I just want to spend time with you. Are you making friends over there?”

“Mother, I do not--” 

She interrupts him before he can continue: “I know. You don’t make friends. But you aren’t spending time with anybody?” 

Spock closes his eyes for a moment to remember Jim, to remember his beautiful aura, to remember the way he smiles, to remember the way he looks out across the ocean like he will find something on the horizon. He remembers the way he has gone into Blow Me over and over, every day, and Jim hasn’t shown up since Spock ran out to find the creature on the monitor.

“No,” he says, and opens his eyes. Amanda is looking at him with a peculiar expression, like she can see right through him.

“A month is a long time to go to stay alone.” 

“I have you,” Spock says. “Is that not enough?” 

“No, Spock, sweetheart. It isn’t enough. I’m your mother. That isn’t enough. You need friends.”

“I have lasted this long without.”

“You don’t have to.” 

Spock presses his lips together. His eyes are burning for some odd reason he cannot identify, and he cannot stop thinking about Jim. “I know, mother. I will look for friends, if that appeases you.” 

“Please do.” 

“I must go now, mother. Work.” 

“Yes, of course.” She wipes at her own eyes and gives Spock a wobbling smile. “I love you, sweetheart.” 

Spock struggles with his reply. “I appreciate that. Thank you.” And then he hangs up, his eyes still burning, his aura swirling with an unfamiliar pale blue with strokes of black.  
Something wet falls onto his hand. Spock stares at the drop, his control crumbling. In the closet, something shatters.

Spock falls to his knees and uses all of his power to hold the tears in. He cannot succumb to emotion. He is vulcan--that is all he is! He is vulcan. He is vulcan.  
Three more things shatter before he is finally able to stand, his eyes dry, his emotions in check.

“I am vulcan,” he whispers, and glances at himself, at the cold blue of his aura. “I am vulcan,” he whispers again, “And nothing more.” 

 

He skips going to Blow Me that day, opting instead for a scone at Leonard Mccoy’s shop and the tea bags his hotel keeps in the lobby. He dunks the bag a couple times in the hot water and then takes a cautious sip. Metallic. Not at all comforting like the way Jim makes it.

Spock sighs and crushes a crumb of the scone between his thumb and forefinger. He has yet to find a single piece of information on the creature. Amanda has messaged him a few times since they hung up a couple hours ago, but she hasn’t found anything either.

Perhaps he needs to set up more cameras along the beach. Or perhaps he needs to go farther into the ocean and set up cameras there. He doesn’t know. He’s exhausted and, though he doesn’t want to admit it, he is rather lonely. He could go into the plant and fish shop again and strike up a conversation with Hikaru Sulu, but he doubts anything will come of it. The bar is, too, an option, but he thinks it will likely have the same outcome as with Hikaru: awkwardness and regret.

Finished with his scone and hating his cup of tea a little more every time he takes a sip, Spock rises to rid himself of his dishes and get dressed for the beach again. He’s recently been more careful with dressing appropriately, as the last time he dove into the water without precautions, he nearly got sick. 

Spock’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it in favor of finishing putting on his outfit and heading to the door, the phone nestled comfortably in his pocket.  
“Hey!”

Spock pauses and turns around. A woman--tall with a halo of dark hair--smiles at him.

“Spock, right?” 

“Yes,” Spock says.

“You’re Jim’s friend.” 

Spock decides not to answer.

“I’m Nyota Uhura.” A small smile tilts her mouth. She’s dressed in a dark green Ranger’s uniform and looks immensely comfortable--more comfortable for Spock, that’s for sure. He’s getting increasingly uneasy in his tight wetsuit. “I watch the forest around here.” 

“I gathered that from the uniform.” 

The smile, for some reason, doesn’t disappear. “You headed down to the beach?” 

“Yes. I trust you have kept people away from it.”

“Yeah. There are better beaches to go to, anyway. Mind if I tag along?”

Spock shrugs. “As long as you do not interfere, I do not see any reason as to why you could not.” 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Why should I?” He turns again and walks briskly down the hallway, Nyota falling into step beside him. 

“Jim misses you.”

Spock, again, decides not to answer. If Jim missed him, he imagines they would have been in contact sometime in the last couple weeks.

“He got back into Blow Me yesterday. Awkward since that’s the first day you weren’t in there. What a coincidence, right?”

Spock looks over at her and raises an eyebrow.

“You going in to visit him today?” 

“I already had my tea,” he says, and pushes open the hotel door. Nyota laughs.

“Right. Because that’s why you’ve been visiting him so much.” She puts on sunglasses and grins up at the sky. “You should stop by again. They have a couple of interesting new pieces that I think you’ll like.” 

Is there an alternate meaning to that? Spock isn’t sure. He looks over at her again and frowns.

“Nice, pretty blue. You like blue?” 

Her aura is winding around Spock’s legs mischievously.

“Blue is...fine,” Spock says warily.

“Well, you should see what Jim’s cooking up. Technically he isn’t supposed to be doing any hard work, but you know Jim. You can’t stop him from doing what he loves. Just don’t tell Bones.” 

“I was not planning on sharing any information with him.”

“Alright, good. Because Bones has been so far up Jim’s ass I think if Jim opened his mouth you’d be able to shake Bones’ hand.”

Alarmed, Spock draws back a little from Nyota, and she snorts. 

“I’m kidding. It’s a figure of speech. Well, not a figure of speech, but it isn’t literal, either.” 

“A joke,” Spock tries.

“Well, sort of. Yeah, you could say that.”

Humans may never understand Spock, but that doesn’t mean Spock will ever understand humans.

“Come on,” Nyota says, “Let’s just drop in. I’m craving some tea.”

“You can join me when you are done, then.” 

“You know he wasn’t avoiding you, right? He was having surgery.”

His aura seizes with fear, shrinking so suddenly into Spock’s skin that he can’t breathe.

“Nothing life-threatening,” she adds quickly. “Top surgery. You know what top surgery is?” 

Oh. His aura relaxes. “Yes. I know what top surgery is.”

“He was in recovery.” 

“Recovery,” Spock repeats.

“Yeah you’re supposed to take, like, a couple weeks off of everything so you can recover. You aren’t supposed to move around.”

“Why not?” 

She gives him a strange look. “So he doesn’t heal weirdly and scar quite so bad. I thought you said you knew about top surgery.”

“Oh,” says Spock, “I see.”

“So are we stopping in or what? You can even wish him a nice recovery.”

“Fine. We can stop at Blow Me. I need to wash the taste of this tea out of my mouth, anyway.”

“The hotel tea is pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“You have tried it?” 

“One time, and immediately regretted it.” 

“Why did you not just have Jim’s tea?”

“I was in a hurry, and Jim likes to chat. I’m not proud of it, but I was trying to avoid that, and of course I regretted it afterward.”

“What tea did you try?” 

“Earl Gray. It was nasty.” She laughs a little and smiles over at Spock. “You’re really easy to talk to.” 

“I have never been accused as such.” 

She laughs again, louder. Her aura flashes red, but not an angry red. “It isn’t an accusation, Spock. You could make a lot of friends in this town if you talked to people.” 

Spock checks his monitor. “I am not here to make friends.” It troubles him that this is largely the same conversation he had with Amanda. 

“Yeah, but it can’t hurt to make some, can it? It helps to have allies.”

“I suppose it does, yes.” 

“Also,” she says, “If you ever run into trouble, you know. People would jump to help you.” 

“I have a few questions regarding that statement.” 

Nyota beams. “Shoot.” 

“Firstly, in what situation would I need help? Secondly, would they not help me if I had not aligned myself with them? It was my impression that the people in this town pride themselves in being…” He pauses and tilts his head. “Neighborly.”

Now Nyota snorts. Her aura toys playfully with Spock’s, for some reason completely relaxed in his presence. This has never happened with any other human but Jim. This is semi-new territory for Spock. “You’ve got a point.” But she doesn’t continue; instead she opens the door to Blow Me for Spock and gestures with her hand for him to enter before her. 

“By all means,” she says. Spock raises his eyebrow again and steps in, marveling again at the perfection of auras in the shelves before him.

“Hey! Welcome to--” Jim’s voice, so beautifully familiar, stops when he sees Spock and Nyota. He looks between them and his aura quivers.

“Jim,” Spock says smoothly, “I trust you are recovering well.” 

Jim’s aura flashes with embarrassment, but at least it is no longer quivering. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. Did Notes tell you--”

“She did not give me very many details,” Spock says, which is the truth, and he sees Nyota’s aura flicker with curiosity.

“You, uh.” Jim rub the back of his neck and swallows. “You came in for tea, I’m guessing.” 

“I did, but I imagine you are exhausted. I can prepare the tea.”

“You--” Jim stops in the middle of his sentence again and shakes his head a few times. “What are you and Notes, uh.” 

“Go ahead and make the tea, Spock,” Nyota says when Jim makes it clear he isn’t going to continue his sentence anytime soon. “Jim, come here. Sit down.” 

Jim and Spock pass each other on their way to their new assignments, and Spock can’t help but notice that each of their auras cling to the other for as long as they can. He tugs at his irritably and gives no explanation when Nyota makes a face at him. 

“What tea should I prepare?” 

“Whatever sounds good,” says Nyota.

“I am not making the decision.” 

“Make the peppermint tea.” Jim sounds immensely exhausted. He drops into his chair gingerly and offers a smile to Nyota. “Notes.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Well, I sorta feel like I got stabbed in the chest.”

Nyta nudges his shoulder. “You’re the most dramatic person I know.” 

Jim says, “Have you met Bones?” and they share a quiet laugh together, Jim holding his sides like he’ll fall apart at any moment.

Meanwhile, Spock navigates the furthermost wall of Blow Me, with which he has yet to familiarize himself. There is a kettle in the corner. He assumes that is for the tea, and switches it on while he starts opening cupboards. He can hear Jim and Nyota continuing their conversation:

“Is he mad at me?” 

“No. I don’t think so. I actually think he was worried you didn’t want to talk to him.” 

“Well, he did run out on me.” 

“Well, he is a marine biologist and is currently on the job,” Nyota replies in the exact same tone of voice, then says, in her normal voice, “He doesn’t hate you, Jim. He’s just worried that you don’t like him.” 

“That I don’t like him? Why would you think that?” 

“You should have seen him on the way over here. He was bashful. You don’t know.” 

“Yeah, well.” Jim’s voice lowers, but Spock can still hear him. “Why didn’t he come yesterday? Pike said he’s been coming in every day but he doesn’t the day I come back?”  
“It’s a coincidence, Jim. Also he’s busy. We’ve been over this.” 

Spock finally finds the peppermint tea and starts scooping leaves into cups. He imagines he cannot make the tea as well as does Jim, but he can use the aura of each object to his advantage; he can make sure the amount of water and the heat of the water is complementary to the tea leaves, and that it isn’t too hot that it burns their tongues.

The water clicks when it is ready, and Spock waits until the steam curls with the right color before he pours it into each of the cups. Nyota and Jim are still talking, but he concentrates all of his attention on making the tea as perfect as he can. He has never made tea for himself with this level of intensiveness, but hopefully it will do.

“Here,” he says, and sets cups in front of Nyota and Jim. They have both stopped talking, and peer at him curiously as they inhale the tea’s aroma.  
“Smells good,” says Jim after a moment. Spock releases his breath.

“Do not presume its quality until you try it,” Spock tells him, and goes to fetch his own cup of tea before he sits. “I cannot stay long.” 

“Nyota told me.” Jim rests his elbows on the counter and plants his chin on his palms. “Going to the beach.” 

“Yes.” 

“Can I come with?” 

“I did not plan on taking people with me.”

“Sooo.” He flashes a big smile. “Is that a no?” 

Spock picks up his teacup and blows on it for a moment. “I did not say that. I cannot control what you do with your life, Jim, though I imagine recovery from surgery should at the least prevent you from extraneous exercise.”

“It isn’t extraneous! It’s just walking.” 

“And the sand from the beach?” 

Jim huffs. “You’re starting to sound like Bones.” 

“Don’t be rude,” says Nyota. She sips at her tea and her eyes roll back in her head. “Holy shit. This tea is amazing.” 

“Better than mine?” Jim makes a face and sips at the tea. “Hey, what the fuck? Making tea is part of my livelihood. You’re taking over. Spock, come on.”

Spock frowns. Are they lying to him to, what, spare his feelings? He takes a swallow of his own tea and considers it for a moment. “It is not as good as yours,” he says, and puts the cup down. Jim laughs. 

“Seriously? This is amazing.” 

This doesn’t need to turn into an argument. Spock decides not to reply. He sips more at his tea.

“Anyway,” Jim says, “What have you been up to?”

Glad the tea conversation is over, Spock replies: “I have been busy researching. I have yet to discover what it is that I saw on my monitor.” 

Jim leans forward. “So you saw something. That’s why you ran out?” 

“Yes.” 

His aura flashes with interest. “What did it look like?” 

Spock pulls out his monitor and plays the clip for the two people in front of him, who make some noises that Spock cannot entirely interpret. “I have yet to identify it. It does not look like any creature I have seen before, and I have been unable to gather any more footage to piece together a three-dimensional model for further study.”

“Have you asked around?” Jim interlaces his fingers together and tilts his head. His hair is so messy it sticks up in the back.

“Wouldn’t do any good,” Nyota says. “I mean, come on. You know us locals, Jim. You’re one of us. If anyone ever saw something anything like that--and it looks huge, too--then they would definitely say something. If not to me, then to Pike or Scotty. And I haven’t heard a word.”

“Continuing as I have is likely the best option,” Spock agrees. He finishes the rest of his tea, then stands. “I really must be going. Are the both of you ready to accompany me or should I meet you there?” 

Jim stumbles to his feet. “I’m ready.” 

“I’ve been ready for hours,” Nyota mutters, and glances sideways at Spock. “Not that anyone really cares.”

They walk to the beach together without much conversation, though Spock isn’t entirely paying attention to the others: he concentrates on his monitor, on the different sets of data, trying to find anything out of the ordinary that he can use.

When they arrive at the beach, Spock sets up his things in his usual place and then pulls off the clothes he put on top of his wetsuit. Nyota and Jim have taken seats on the beach together. Jim is laughing about something. Their auras are beautifully compatible. 

Spock shakes his head and dips his feet in the water, allowing himself to get used to the temperature before he moves in farther.  
“Hey Spock!” Jim calls. “What are your plans for the eclipse?”

Spock is nearly neck-deep already, but he stops and turns back. “I did not have plans beyond viewing from my hotel window.”  
“Notes is having a party at her house.”

The water is lapping at Spock’s chin, now. “Did you not just have a party?”

“Yeah, but that was different. We’re celebrating something different, now! A natural phenomenon as opposed to…” She blinks at Jim a few times. “Uh. A natural...phenomenon.” 

“Nice save, Notes.”

“Thanks.”

Spock fits on his snorkel and dives into the water. When he’s done checking his cameras and various other recording equipment, he drags himself back out of the water and, remembering Jim’s earlier discomfort at exposing more skin than usual, he goes behind a rock to change into dry clothes. Nyota smiles at him as he walks back to where she and Jim are sitting.

“Anything interesting?” 

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Better luck next time,” she assures him.

“I try not to put too much faith in luck.” Spock rubs at his hair with a towel.

“So what do you think about joining us for the eclipse?” she asks. “We’ll be having a barbeque and then all camping out and watching it in the morning. It’ll be fun.” 

“Fun,” Spock repeats.

“Yeah. We’re basically inviting the whole town.” 

“I think I will just stay at the hotel. Thank you for the offer.”

Nyota shrugs. “Okay. If you’re sure. But drop by anytime. I can send you my address, if you want?” 

“That will not be necessary.” 

She nods a few times and chews on her bottom lip. Her aura is an embarrassed green, and shrinks into her skin like it no longer wants to be seen. Jim, too, for some reason, is getting embarrassed, even though he was not involved in the conversation.

“I am sending some of the items I bought from your store to my family today.” 

Jim looks up, both his eyes and his aura sparkling with excitement. “Really?”

“Yes. It is long overdue.” He is reluctant to give details--not because of Jim, he realizes, but because of Nyota. If she was not here, he would have likely shared. It is better, then, that she came. Spock is getting careless.

“You think they’ll like them?” 

“I would not send them if I thought they would not.” 

Jim nods. “Okay, well, let me know what they think.”

“If you wish.” 

There is more silence. It feels awkward with Nyota here. Spock does not mind her--he likes her, even--but it feels strange when Jim is here as well. He does not particularly want to share im with anyone else.

This is foolish, of course. Firstly, Jim is not his to share. Secondly, if Jim belonged to anyone but himself, it was the town and not Spock. He lived and breathed this town. He was happy here. Jim did not look at Spock the same way he looked at the ocean, or at his fellow townspeople. Who was Spock to feel this way?  
He brushes imaginary sand off of his clothes. 

“Thank you for accompanying me,” he says, “But I must be going.”

“Going?” Jim asks. “Already? But--” 

“I have other things to which I need to attend. Thank you again.” And he picks up his things and leaves. 

 

He spends the rest of the day working quietly in his room, sending the occasional message to Amanda and trying to hide his smile and roll his eyes at the same time whenever she sends a message with little green facial expressions.

“You are not vulcan,” he replies every now and then, “And therefore these emojis do not apply to you.”

“Come on,” she typed back, “I’m trying to make it easier for you to relate. Look at their eyebrows!! Isn’t that funny?”

Spock thinks it’s a little funny, but he won’t ever admit it. Instead, he sends a green face back that has wide eyes and a flat, unamused laugh. Amanda calls him a few minutes later and just laughs and cries for a good solid half-hour before hanging up and sending him more faces.

He goes to sleep easily, his mind busy with still trying to decipher the puzzle that is the creature off the coast. Its complexity soothes him.

At eight-thirty in the morning, he rises and dresses and prepares himself a cup of hot cocoa, reasoning that the actual chocolate content is low and, besides, if he was going to take a day off, now would be as good a time as any. He settles in front of his window, cross-legged on top of his bed, and fits his specialized goggles over his head, not on his eyes yet as the eclipse is still approaching.

A knock sounds at his door. “Spock?” 

He rises and pulls it open. “Jim. Hello. I assumed you would be at the party at Nyota’s house.”

“Nah. I’m not a huge fan of parties, anyway.” He stops, then, and twists at his fingers. Spock can’t help but look at those hands. 

“Would you like to come in?” he asks at last. The eclipse has almost begun. “I haven’t any extra glasses, but--” 

“Yeah, sure! And I have a pair.” He pulls them out of his pocket and displays them as he steps in, smiling big. “Thanks.”

“It is not a problem, Jim. There is hot water and cocoa on the counter if you want any.”

He settles into his seat again while Jim prepares his mug before coming to sit next to him on the bed, just inches from Spock’s thigh. 

“This hasn’t happened for a while, has it?”

“It has not.” 

Jim smiles bigger and puts his glasses on. Spock does the same. 

“You know,” he says to Spock, “This is pretty cool. I’m glad I got to experience it with you.”

Spock’s glasses prevent him from seeing Jim’s face, but he can still see Jim’s aura, flashing with light and twisting with ribbons of pastel pink.  
“I feel the same way, Jim,” he says, and they watch the sun disappear together.


End file.
